The Last Scabbard of Akrash
by Dibellan Arts
Summary: When Peliah, heiress to the House Dres slave-dealing dynasty of Morrowind, falls in love with one of her father's khajiiti slaves, the bodies of her Dunmer suitors begin to turn up mysteriously decapitated. Some call the killer "The Lopper." But Peliah prefers to call him "The Liberator." [Based on the in-game book appearing in Skyrim, Morrowind, and Oblivion]
1. Kazagh

Based on the book _The Last Scabbard of Akrash, Story of a Slaver's Daughter and Her Khajiit Lover_, appearing in Skyrim, Oblivion, and Morrowind.

1

Kazagh

The first time Peliah laid eyes on Kazagh, she was eight years old.

It was her birthday. Her father had invited lads and lasses from all of the great houses in Tear for a party.

Peliah didn't like them. They were loud. Whenever she tried to speak to them, they would simply talk over her out with their high, jabbering voices. And if there was one thing that Peliah couldn't stand, it was high, jabbering voices.

She had always been an odd child. She preferred to spend her time reading or sitting quietly. Her bright red eyes were almost too large for her face and she rarely spoke, except to ask questions. She was always curious.

The other children weren't particularly fond of her, either. When she chose not to argue with them, it only annoyed them. She just didn't fit in. The lads and lasses only came to her birthday party because their parents forced them to. It would be rude to refuse a noblewoman's party invitation—especially one of House Dres. She would be very rich when she grew up, lording over a vast estate with hundreds upon hundreds of slaves. It would never do to burn bridges with such a figure, the grown-ups said.

Still, the lads and lasses did not like her. They did their best to ignore her, shouting and tearing around the garden where several large tables were set up, heaped with cake and candy. Peliah did her best to ignore them as well, though it was significantly more difficult—particularly when young Soron Jeles came flying around the corner of one table and crashed right into her.

Soron leered at her, sprang up, and dashed away. Peliah got to her feet slowly. She felt like crying for a second, but decided against it. _I'm not hurt,_ she reasoned. _Crying doesn't make any sense when you're not hurt._

She often thought that way. Rather than flouting what was on her mind like everyone else she knew, she preferred to absorb information, process it, and plan. Rarely did she speak or act without thinking about it first.

She grabbed a piece of bread from a silver platter and munched on it quietly, observing the bedlam with subtle distaste. Soron was shouting about something and brandishing a wooden sword. He tackled Ulani, a member of House Dres and a cousin of Peliah's. She screamed shrilly and set about striking him on the head with her tiny gray fist. Meanwhile the other children whooped and crowed, circling the brawlers and betting on the outcome of the disagreement.

Suddenly something brushed Peliah's knee.

She started and looked down. Something was moving beneath the tablecloth. There was someone under the table!

Peliah glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Then she bent over and lifted the edge of the tablecloth.

A pair of giant green eyes met hers. A khajiit boy crouched there, trembling. His ears were pressed flat against his head and as Peliah stared at him, his pupils dilated with fear.

Peliah cocked her head. She'd only seen a handful of khajiit in her life, in spite the fact that they'd cooked her meals, washed her clothes, and cleaned her room since the day she was born. He father had always said that a good slave was never be seen or heard unless he was called upon. With their soft voices and soft paws, his khajiiti slaves had stayed out of his way easily enough, and Peliah's too. Until now, anyway.

The boy drew his lips into a frightened grimace. He seemed to waiting for something—what that something was, Peliah wasn't sure.

She peeked up over the table. The other children were still engrossed in Soron and Ulani's fight. Surely they wouldn't notice if she disappeared for a minute or two.

She knelt down in grass. "What are you doing here?" she asked in a high, calm voice.

The boy swallowed nervously, his eyes flashing. "Khajiit o-only wanted to see the party," he rasped. "Please forgive him, Sera! He did not mean to be impertinent. He will go away now! Please do not tell!"

The tiny elven maiden could only stare. Everyone at the party, including her, would rather be almost anywhere else. But this khajiit was willing to hide under the table just for a glimpse of it.

"Why?" she asked.

The boy looked confused. "W-Why what, Sera?"

"Why did you want to see the party?"

"Because of all the sweet smells," he said, eyebrows pulling together. Wasn't it obvious? "And the toys. And the games."

Peliah frowned. She hadn't really thought of it that way. Toys and sweets were a part of her everyday life.

"But khajiit didn't take anything, Sera!" the boy said when he saw that Peliah was frowning. "No, no, khajiit would die before he took the sweet smelling things that the mother made for Sera's special party."

Again, Peliah was surprised. "Your mother made all these treats?"

The boy nodded, wondering if his mother's situation might get him out of the storm of trouble that was sure to follow. "Yes, Sera, all. She is the baker."

"What do you do?" she chirped. She could hardly contain her curiosity.

The boy shivered. Was she questioning his usefulness? Was she going to tell her father sell him? Surely they would not be so cruel as to separate him from his mother!

"Khajiit does lots of things around the kitchen," he said in a rush. "Khajiit is running errands and peeling ash yams. He is lighting fires and sweeping and dusting and mopping. He is a good slave."

Peliah looked at him carefully. She could see the fear in his eyes, but she didn't understand it. She didn't like that. Above all, she wanted to understand—to _know_ things. It made her feel stronger than the people who didn't know things. So she asked, "Why are you afraid?"

If the boy was confused before, now he was completely perplexed. What did Sera mean by asking him about his feelings? He had never heard of such a thing before.

"Because Khajiit was seen," he said warily.

Peliah looked around again. The other children were still squabbling.

"Only by me," she said, "and I'm not going to tell the others."

"What about Serjo, the father?" the boy asked, shivering at the very thought. He had heard stories from the other slaves of the cruelty of Dres Minegaur.

The little maiden thought about it for a minute. "I won't tell Papa if you don't want me to," she said slowly. _Besides, there's no reason for me to tell him_, she thought to herself.

The little khajiit's body relaxed. His whiskers drooped with relief. "Oh, thank you, Sera! Thank you!"

"Why are you afraid of him?"

The boy bit his lip. Was it possible that the little Sera didn't know? Or was this some kind of trap? His mother had told him never to trust the dunmer overlords. Yet there was something different about this girl. She was quiet and calm. And when she'd discovered him, she hadn't screamed and called attention to the fact that he was there—which was what he had expected her to do.

"Because Khajiit will be punished," he finally said. "Serjo will tie khajiit up by the arms and whip him like Kuu'njo and Saar. The mother said. But this one didn't listen." The boy shook his head remorsefully.

Peliah's mouth fell open. Her papa, whip someone? It couldn't be true.

"You're lying," she said in a low voice. Her mouth trembled. "My papa wouldn't whip anybody."

"Khajiit has seen," the boy said. He could see that he had angered her, but it was the truth. He couldn't take it back now.

The girl plopped onto the ground, dazed. _Don't cry,_ she thought. _Crying would get everyone's attention. He must be lying. But why would he? If he were trying to stay out of trouble, he'd try to make friends with me. He must be telling the truth._

The little girl looked into the khajiit's eyes. "I… think I believe you," she said in a quiet voice.

The boy considered for a moment. "Khajiit is sorry," he said. He was intuitive enough to understand that this revelation about her father had upset her.

"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault," the girl said, cocking her head to the side.

The boy shrugged.

"What is your name?" Peliah asked.

"Kazagh," the little khajiit said.

"That's… funny."

"It is a khajiiti name," Kazagh said defensively.

"Well I'm Peliah," the girl said. She smiled. "It's a dunmer name."

Kazagh smiled back at her. His round little face with the stubby ears and wide eyes was transformed. He looked cute. "It's still a funny name."

Peliah giggled.

"Peliah!" her father's voice called from the edge of the garden, "it's time for presents! Where are you?"

Peliah sprang to her feet. "Right here, Papa!" she called.

Kazagh gave her a terrified look.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "We'll all go inside now and you can escape."

"Whatever are you doing over there?" boomed Minegaur, strolling through the flock of boisterous children.

"Eating sweets," she said simply, dropping the edge of the tablecloth.

The old elf chuckled. "You are going to get another toothache at this rate, young lady! Now, into the house with you! And tell your charming little friends to come along."

"Yes Papa." Rather reluctantly, Peliah turned and trotted off after her father. Kazagh watched her go from beneath the tablecloth.

~o~

Like most children, Peliah would have preferred to believe that her papa was a saint. So she wondered if Kazagh had made up a story to gain her sympathies and worm his way out of minor trouble. But the boy had clearly been frightened when he had described the punishment that he would suffer at the Serjo's hand. When Peliah recalled the sheer terror in his eyes, her sharp little mind told her that there was something to his tale, whether she wanted to believe it or not.

"It is a trial, Tinúviel," she told her ragdoll the next morning. "But I daresay that if something happened, it happened. There isn't anything anybody can do to change it."

The doll stared back at her with its sparkling black button eyes. Its hair was a mass of black yarn. Its body was a gray stocking filled with stuffing and artfully shaped into a head, torso, legs, and arms with a needle and thread. It was not a fancy doll, but Peliah's mother had made it for her before she died of the crimson plague.

Peliah kept the doll because she liked her. She was not a sentimental child. Besides, what she remembered most about her mother was the shouting. And the hitting. Once her mother and Minegaur had argued so violently that a vase had fallen from the shelf and shattered into a million pieces. When Peliah's mother died, the house was finally quiet. Things stopped breaking.

Peliah liked the quiet. She had liked her mother—when she was quiet. There had been rare moments when the dunmer woman had taken her tiny daughter in her arms and held her close, not making a sound. Those were the moments that Peliah liked to think of when she held Tinúviel close.

Of course, she didn't forget the shouting either. The shouting had taken up most of her mother's time, she reminded herself. And so she was glad that her mother was dead.

The house was quite silent now. For the last two years its vast dining chamber, long corridors, and sumptuous bedchambers had been as silent as the grave. Heaven knew that Peliah did not run about screaming and shouting, as a normal child would have. Minegaur had thought his daughter was in mourning at first—then, upon questioning the girl and finding her largely indifferent toward her mother's death, determined that she was simply strange. Quiet, and very strange.


	2. The Superior Race

~o~

2

The Superior Race

Peliah didn't see Kazagh again until she was eleven.

She was taller and thinner, but other than that, she hadn't changed much. Quiet and thoughtful as ever, she preferred to spend the majority of her time alone. Whenever Minegaur needed his daughter for something, he knew she could be found in the library. Neither he nor his wife had ever spent much time among the dusty tomes, but Peliah gobbled them up as fast as she could. She didn't understand a great many of the words she came across, but delighted in looking them up in the giant dictionary lying on a stand at the back of the room.

One night she couldn't sleep, so she tiptoed up to library. When she arrived, she was surprised to see a lantern glowing on her favorite desk. It was quite late and she'd never seen anyone visit the library apart from herself.

_It must be someone who shouldn't be here_, she thought. _Otherwise they would have come during the day._

She doused her candle and crept through the dimly lit room. Whoever it was, she didn't want to surprise them.

Suddenly she heard the ruffling sound of turning pages. She crouched down and peered around the end of a bookshelf.

It was Kazagh. He was sitting Indian-style on the floor with a book in his lap. His bright green eyes moved rapidly back and forth; so engrossed in the book was he that he didn't even look up when Peliah stepped fully into view. His lips were curved into a soft smile and his tail lashed back and forth. Clearly he was enjoying himself very much.

Though she didn't want to spoil the pretty picture he made, Peliah thought it rude to continue to watch him unannounced. "Hello," she said quietly.

The boy nearly jumped out of his skin. "Ah!" he hissed, springing to his feet. The book hit the floor with a great _thump_.

"Don't be afraid," she said quickly. "It's me, Peliah. And I remember you. You're Kazagh."

Kazagh stared at her for a moment, his chest heaving. Then his posture relaxed. "Oh," he said. "Ah, hello, Sera."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Kazagh's eyes flashed nervously. "Khajiit was… dusting the library."

Peliah looked around. True enough, there was a feather duster on the desk. But as far as she could see, everything was still quite dusty.

For some reason, she smiled. "What were you reading?" she asked.

Kazagh looked a little sheepish. "Ah, a story about a boy who finds a dragon egg."

Peliah beamed. "I love that one! I read it yesterday."

Whatever response Kazagh had been expecting, this wasn't it. His eyes were wide with surprise. "So… Sera is not angry?" he asked tentatively.

"No. Why would I be angry?"

Perhaps it would have been wise to drop the subject, but Kazagh was curious as to why Peliah didn't treat him poorly, like other dunmer did. Besides, she had already proven herself trustworthy. He had not forgotten the birthday party all those years ago.

"Because khajiit was not working," Kazagh explained. "He was reading in Sera's special library. He has no right to read in Sera's special library."

"Why not? Just because you're a slave doesn't mean you don't get to read books!" Peliah laughed.

Kazagh raised his eyebrows. "Khajiit begs pardon, Sera, but that is exactly what it means."

Peliah stared at him, dumbfounded. "You mean—you're not allowed to _read_?"

Kazagh nodded. "It is illegal for a slave to learn to read. But the mother knows how. Someone taught her. And she taught the cubs."

"There are _more_ of you?" Peliah asked. "I mean, you have siblings?"

"Khajiit does not know this word, 'siblings.'"

"Uh, brothers and sisters."

"Oh. Yes. Khajiit has three older brothers, all from same litter, and one little sister. He has no others from his litter."

"How old is your little sister?" Peliah wanted to know.

Kazagh pondered for a moment. "Khajiit believes she is three. But is very tiny." He made a cradle with his arms and rocked it gently back and forth.

"How old are you?" Peliah asked. She knew she was asking a lot of questions, but she couldn't seem to help herself.

"Thirteen," he replied.

For reasons she didn't understand, Peliah was suddenly shy of him. He was bigger than her, but she hadn't realized that he was so old. She wished she had worn something other than her loose silk nightgown.

"Well," she said stoutly, "you can read here any time you want. _I_ don't mind."

Kazagh smiled. "It is kind of Sera to offer, but that would not be wise."

"Why not?"

"Because of the Serjo," Kazagh said, turning his head to the side. "If he catches khajiit wasting time, he will be very angry."

"Reading isn't a waste of time."

Kazagh smiled at her indignation. "For khajiit it is."

Peliah stared at him. She could not imagine a world in which she was not allowed to read whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to.

"So… if he caught you… he would whip you?"

Kazagh nodded solemnly.

"Has he whipped you before?" Peliah asked tremblingly.

"No," Kazagh said, shaking his furry head. "This one stays out of trouble."

"Oh."

Suddenly someone peered around the end of the bookshelf, just as Peliah had done. Peliah and Kazagh both started violently.

It was a tall, lean khajiiti woman. She had a thin face and drooping whiskers, but her beetle-green eyes were so bright and piercing that they seemed to look straight through Peliah.

She bowed. "Forgive khajiit if she has startled Sera," the woman said quickly. Her voice was as rough as sandpaper, whereas Kazagh's was high and slightly squeaky. "Khajiit also begs Sera to forgive the son. He was dusting at night in order to stay out of Sera's way. He should not have spoken to Sera, but he did not mean any impertinence."

She shot Kazagh a sharp look. The boy wilted visibly.

Peliah realized that Kazagh was in trouble. "Oh, he didn't speak to me. I spoke to him," she said matter-of-factly. "He was just trying to dust, but I was curious, you see."

The woman's eyes widened with surprise. "…Oh."

"Please don't be upset with him. He didn't do anything wrong," Peliah said in a high, clear voice.

The woman was at a complete loss for words. Her personal experience told her to never trust a dunmer. What new sort of trickery was this?

"In fact, I was going back to bed," Peliah went on. "If Kazagh would like to stay and… er… finish up, that would be fine."

Kazagh's mother was shaking her head before Peliah was finished. "No, no, Sera, the son is needed in the kitchen," she said quickly. There was fear in her eyes. "Please, Sera will excuse us now."

She grabbed Kazagh by the hand and pulled him to his feet. The boy gave Peliah a parting grimace before his mother dragged him out of the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind them.

~o~

Peliah returned to the library first thing the next morning—this time with an agenda. She could vaguely remember seeing a book entitled _Slavers and Slaves: The Dynamic of Dominance_. She'd planned to read it later since it was such a great, fat book. But after last night's events, she was desperate to find it again.

After scanning the spines of several hundred volumes, she finally spotted it. It was very dusty.

Peliah took it down from the shelf, cracked it open in the middle, and began to read.

…_of the superior race. Anti-slavery advocates often bleat that beastmen are capable of human or near-human emotion. But careful study and observation of these creatures by celebrated dunmer ethologists reveals that such is not the case. To describe their reactions to given situations as emotional responses would be fantastical at best. The behavior of beastmen is determined by ultimate causation; for example, they will pair because it increases their reproductive success—not because they have fallen in love._

Peliah frowned. She went over to the dictionary and riffled through it. _E… E… Et… Eth... Etho_—ah.

"_Ethology: __the scientific and objective study of animal behavior especially under natural conditions_."

Animal behavior? The girl's frown deepened. That was hardly fair. Animal behaviorists would see what they expected to see—animal behavior. And Kazagh was not an animal. He talked, for one thing. He thought, for another. And he felt—Peliah was sure of it.

She opened the book in another place.

_Feelings of sympathy and compassion toward beastmen might seem morally justified, but nothing could be further from the truth. Incapable of gratitude, beastmen see acts of kindness as acts of weakness. Dominance must be reinforced with punishment, and punishment alone. Though it might seem harsh to some, failing to remind slaves of their place will only disorient them. If they are treated like dunmer, they will develop a false sense of equality to dunmer. Such a false sense of equality could only lead to rebellion._

Peliah slammed the book shut. She scowled as she had never scowled before, her eyebrows knotting together and her blood-red eyes flashing dangerously.

Who had added this book to the library? Her father? Her grandfather? Her great-grandfather?

She checked the publishing date. 2E 400. It was over one thousand years old. Which meant that it had probably been stinking up these halls of wisdom since before her grandfather, Dres Travail, was born.

Still, Peliah wasn't comforted. Someone in her family had seen fit to add this book to the library. Did that person live by its poisonous rhetoric? Did her father?

She shivered. All evidence pointed towards the affirmative.

Compassion was not one of Peliah's strong suits. Usually she acted exclusively in her own interest. But something about the idea of Kazagh, tied up and furiously lashed, made her cringe.

_Dominance must be reinforced with punishment, and punishment alone._

Peliah didn't want to believe that her father was of the same mind as the author of _Slavers and Slaves_, even though the evidence against him was… mounting. _Perhaps I'll talk to him, just make sure_, she thought.

So she put the book back on the shelf and ran out of the library.


	3. Akrash

~o~

3

Akrash

Dres Minegaur was preparing for wine tasting. He had ordered the slaves to bring seventeen bottles of his oldest bottles up from the cellar. While he waited, he inspected the glasses carefully, wanting to make certain that they were immaculate even though the maid had polished them three times already.

He was greatly surprised when his reclusive little daughter came striding into the dining hall, her eyes unnaturally bright.

"Heigh ho, little Peliah," Minegaur boomed. "To what do I owe this rare pleasure?"

"I have a question," the girl said in a business-like fashion.

Minegaur chuckled. "Another? Can't say I'm surprised. Well then, what is it? Your papa is quite busy, you know."

Peliah had rehearsed what she was going to say on her way down the stairs. She'd decided to be direct, as it was likely that her father would skirt around the unpleasantries of slave ownership if he weren't asked about them flat-out.

"Why do we have slaves, Papa?" she asked.

The old elf frowned and put his wine glass down. "Now, that's an odd question. Why would you ask such a thing?"

The girl shrugged. "No reason. I just want to know."

Minegaur seemed satisfied with this explanation. "Typical," he said with a short laugh. "Well little Peliah, we have slaves because we have a very large estate that needs looking after."

"But Papa, aren't we quite rich?"

Minegaur frowned. "Well, yes. What of it?"

"Can't we just _hire_ servants?"

The old elf gave a great booming laugh. "That's the whole point—we don't need to. We have servants-for-life that don't require any pay or sick leave."

"But wouldn't they _like_ pay and sick leave?" Peliah asked in what she hoped was an innocent tone.

The old elf threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, Peliah, what a droll little thing you are! You remind me of your mother more every day you live. Come here and your papa will tell you a story."

Puzzled, Peliah followed her father into the sitting room, where the old elf plopped down in an overstuffed armchair and held his arms out to her. He had never been one to pay a great deal of attention to her. Now he wanted to tell her a story? Warily, she climbed onto his lap.

"Now then. You know that your papa was quite the adventurer in his younger years, don't you?"

Peliah nodded. She had overheard bits and pieces of her father's tales over the years.

"Well you probably didn't know that your papa trekked across all those deserts and swamps for a reason. He was in search of something. And that something was beastmen."

Though she was familiar with the term, Peliah decided to feign naiveté in the interest of sounding offhand. "Beastmen?"

"Khajiit and argonians. You know what those are, don't you?"

"Cat people and the lizard people?"

"Precisely. Yes, I was tracking beastmen so I could bring them back to Morrowind and sell them, like my father, and his father before him, and his father before him, waaaaaaaaay back to the founding of House Dres."

Peliah swallowed hard. "But what if they didn't want to go?"

The old elf shook his head. "Dear little one, they might have resisted at first, but that was nothing but the animal wildness in them. Once they arrived in their new home, they hardly resisted at all. I daresay they were better off, even, with a roof over their heads and plenty to eat and drink!"

The little girl stared at him. "But what if they didn't want to be slaves?" Her voice was barely a whisper now.

For the first time, Minegaur's smile faltered. "It is not sensible to speak of the wants of beastmen," he said in a slow, careful voice. "They want for nothing but food when they're hungry, water when they're thirsty, and shelter when it rains."

Peliah could not believe what she was hearing. Her father could have written that book himself. But he was wrong. Kazagh wanted more from life than food and shelter—he wanted books. He wanted knowledge. Why else would he stay up late reading when he could be sleeping? He was no different from Peliah, really.

Peliah wanted to challenge Minegaur's perception on what he called "the wants of beastmen," but she knew that opening such a dialogue would not be prudent. For one thing, it would make him suspicious regarding her sudden interest in slavery. For another, it would probably make him angry and therefore unwilling to revisit the subject. And now that Peliah had begun her investigation, she was loath to cause her well of information to go dry.

"Do you see that sword above the mantle, little daughter?" Minegaur suddenly asked, pointing to a greatsword on a plaque above their heads.

Peliah nodded.

"That is Akrash, my dear. Isn't it lovely? My father gave it to me when I left on my first voyage. Why, that sword and I have been all over Tamriel together! It assisted me in the capture of hundreds of slaves. All of the slaves in this house, now that I think about it—well, the ones over thirty years of age, anyway."

Peliah decided to ask what she considered a less accusatory question. "How did you get the slaves back to Morrowind?"

"Ah, now that is a worthy tale," Minegaur boomed. Peliah was relieved to see that he was smiling again.

"Once the beastmen were captured and bound, someone had to feed them, water them, and guard them night and day," the old elf began. "Of course those tasks were given to my men. Being captain, my responsibilities were of a more challenging nature. I had to navigate a safe route back to Morrowind. Elsweyr was particularly tricky. We had to march our slaves all the way down to Topal Bay, for that was the only place to make port. That meant crossing vast tracts of desert with hundreds of cats in tow. Water holes were far and few between to say the least, and although the cats knew of the secret springs nestled in the mountains, they refused to reveal them to us, even when thirst set in and death seemed imminent. Stubborn creatures, they were."

A lump rose in Peliah's throat.

"Once we were hit by a terrible sandstorm. Being young and inexperienced, I ordered the company to continue through it. When the storm ended, I realized that we were quite far off course. Though the stars pointed us back in the right direction, we'd lost quite a bit of time. There was no way we were going to make it to the next water hole before we ran out of water.

"We told the slaves that they would be the first to die if they didn't tell us where the secret water was. But they wouldn't open their mouths. We didn't want to waste energy lashing them, so we killed a few of their cubs, holding them up by the scruffs of their necks and disemboweling them, but it had absolutely no effect on the beastmen. Even the females were silent.

"After all the cubs were dead, we didn't know what to do. Though it's common knowledge that beastmen don't have feelings, we thought that they would defend their own offspring at the very least. But alas, they did not. They feel absolutely nothing, Peliah. Even the screams of their dying cubs did not stir their sympathies.

"So we pressed on, even though we knew we'd never make it out of that desert alive. It was all we could do. We didn't spare a single drop of water for the cats. Even so, we ran out after a about week. The cats grew very thin and their eyes sunk back in their heads, but they simply refused to die. They could go much longer without water than we could.

"Finally we were too weak to continue. Even the cats were immobilized. They had not drunk anything for a week and a half. I was certain that they were on the brink of death, though they remained as insolent as ever.

"Suddenly, out of the desert came a band of Imperial scouts on horseback. They had come from the very same water hole that we were bound for. They carried many vessels of water and when they saw that we were dying of thirst, they were more than willing to share with us.

"They were even willing to spare some for the cats. The cats would have revived with relatively little water and we probably could have made it out with all fifty of them in tow. But I had promised them that they would die if they refused to show us the hidden water. So I ordered my men to bind them in a great circle. They were too weak to resist. Within two days, they were all dead.

"We continued to the water hole. After we had rested there for several weeks, we turned around and headed north again. It would have made little sense to return home without any slaves to sell at the market. And we ended up finding an even larger band. I daresay it was a stroke of good fortune. They were much fitter and finer than the ones we had lost. So I suppose all's well that ends well."

The old elf finished his tale with a satisfied shrug. He settled back in his chair, smiling reminiscently.

Peliah sprang from her father's lap. She couldn't help it. Her whole body was hot and feverish. Her eyes burned.

_Stay calm, stay calm_, she thought desperately.

Minegaur was surprised by this sudden, violent gesture. "Peliah?" he asked uncertainly, reaching for her.

She closed her eyes and clenched her hands into trembling fists. _You monster, you monster! _she screamed in her head. _You aren't my father! I don't know who you are!_

"Dear, are you quite alright?" the old elf asked. Peliah looked past him as though she did not quite see him. Her eyes flashed wildly back and forth. Her lips trembled.

"Yes, I am fine," she said through clenched teeth.

Minegaur gaped at her. She certainly didn't _look_ fine. Her expression was downright frightening; he couldn't understand it. Then again, she had always been an odd child…

"I'm going to the library," she choked.

"Alright," Minegaur said uncertainly. He reached out to touch her, but she flinched away from his hand.

She turned and walked out of the room. As soon as she was out of Minegaur's sight, she ran all the way down the hall and up the stairs.

~o~

Over the next two hours, Tinúviel the ragdoll bore silent witness to Peliah's first ever meltdown.

Not that it was terribly loud. But the girl did fling herself upon her bed and sob into her pillow, her tiny shoulders heaving.

She knew that it would do no good to cry. Crying never changed anything. But for the first time in her life, she simply couldn't stop herself.

It was even worse than she could have imagined. Not only had her father whipped his slaves—he had personally kidnapped _hundreds _of them and brought them to Morrowind at the point of a sword! He had killed their children! He had watched them thirst to death before his very eyes.

"Kazagh is a slave because of _my_ Papa," she sobbed. "Do you hear, Tinúviel? All of the slaves in this house—they are slaves because of _my_ Papa!"

The bright-eyed face of Kazagh's mother came swimming into Peliah's head. What had she left behind in Elsweyr? Parents, maybe? A home, at the very least. It just wasn't fair!

And Kazagh had been born into a world in which he would only ever be a slave. He would never see his homeland. He would never know the location of the secret mountain water, which his people had died to protect. He would never be free.

And it was all because of Dres Minegaur.

Peliah picked Tinúviel up. She studied the doll's gray skin and tangled black hair. For the first time in her life, it occurred to Peliah that Tinúviel was terribly ugly. What was so special about having gray skin, anyway? Why did dunmer think that it made them better than everyone else? As far as Peliah could see, dunmer were simply cruel; what right did that give them to lord over other races?

She walked over to the mirror on the wall and stood before it. Her face was swollen from so much crying. Her long black hair was tousled about her neck. And her eyes were redder than fiery lava. They were demonic. She hated them.

"I don't want to be member of House Dres," she whispered, her eyes filling with fresh tears. "I don't want to be a slaver's daughter. I don't to be dunmer."

She snatched Tinúviel off the bed and threw her into the closet. The doll slumped to the floor and lay there with her head smashed against a shoe, her black eyes glittering reproachfully.

Peliah stared at her.

Perhaps it wasn't the doll's fault that she was so ugly. Perhaps it wasn't her fault that she was gray. Peliah walked over to the closet and stood there, speculating.

After a long moment, she sighed, picked Tinúviel up, and dusted her off.

It wasn't her fault. And that was that.


	4. Felaróf

~o~

4

Felaróf

Peliah didn't see Kazagh again for two whole years.

In fact, she hardly saw anyone. She'd grown more reclusive than ever. She rose with the sun, combed her rippling black hair, dressed, and went to the library. There she would read until hunger drove her back to her room, where she knew her lunch would be waiting on a platter on her nightstand. Usually it was baked ash yams and cinnamon; the cook seemed to know that this was Peliah's favorite dish. She would usually eat dinner there as well, unless Minegaur specifically requested her company at the dining table.

She had grown remarkably pale. Her skin was the color of the predawn—white-gray with blue undertones. Her red eyes were still much too large for her face. Additionally, she had grown quite tall. Her arms and legs were long and slender. Her hands were pale, long-fingered things—so slim and bony that they almost looked like albino spiders.

Her father noticed that she was beginning to look like a plant that had been kept in a dark closet. So he bought her a horse, hoping that it would coax her outside.

It didn't. Though Peliah thought the beast very fine looking, she didn't care to ride him. She called him Felaróf and slipped out to the stables to brush him and pat him occasionally, but showed no interest in riding him through the streets of Tear.

What she really wanted was another glimpse of Kazagh. He would be fifteen now; would he still be working in the kitchens with his mother? Running errands and cleaning? Or would he have more important duties now that he was older?

She wished she could ask him. But no matter how quietly she crept about the manor, she never bumped into him. In fact, she never bumped into any khajiit at all. She supposed that their large, sensitive ears and sharp noses warned them whenever she was near.

"Perhaps Kazagh doesn't want to speak to me since I am dunmer," she said to Tinúviel. "Perhaps he fears me now that he's older and wiser. And he should," she added bitterly.

That evening she found a green apple on her dinner tray. She'd never been fond of apples. Usually when she found something she didn't like on her dinner tray, she'd simply eat it, thinking of the hands that had prepared it. But tonight she decided to take the apple outside and give it Felaróf instead.

The evening air was warm, but it wasn't heavy. The sky was a deep purple-gray. When Peliah arrived at the stable, Felaróf looked up from his dinner of rolled oats and hay, his large black eyes sparkling. He tossed his head.

"Hello horse," Peliah said, walking up to him and stroking his nose. The skin around his nostrils was velvet-y smooth. "Tough day?"

Though she had only been joking, the horse wrenched his nose out of her grasp and tossed his head vigorously. He pranced in place for a moment.

Peliah felt bad for him. He must be very bored, standing in his stall all day long. He was some sort of thoroughbred; that much was obvious. He had a slender neck, thick withers, and long legs. He'd probably been bred to race.

_Maybe I'll take him out and walk him around the garden_, she thought. She grabbed a halter and lead-rope from the tack room. When Felaróf saw what she carried, he thrust his head out of the stall and dropped it into her hands, as though to hurry the process along. Smiling gently, Peliah slid the halter up over his head and fastened the buckles. Then she hooked the lead-rope to the halter and opened the stall door.

Before she had time to think, she was on her butt and Felaróf was dashing across the yard, his tail high in the air. He didn't even pause when he reached the garden gate. Rather, he increased his speed and launched himself neatly over it. His back hooves didn't even clip the top of it.

Peliah sat there for a moment, stunned. Then she sprang to her feet and took off after him. He'd make a mess of the garden—that was for sure. He'd leave giant hoof-marks in the soft, wet earth.

She flung the gate open and dashed inside. A familiar tangle of roses and bittergreen vines met her eyes. It didn't take long for her to spot Felaróf galloping near the fountain, his long black mane and tail billowing out behind him. Sure enough, massive clods of mud flew about his plunging hooves.

Peliah ran after him. It took her a while, but she finally got him cornered near the hedges. She didn't know anything about horses, so she had no idea that all of her chasing had only frightened him more. Now he regarded her with wide, distrustful eyes. He snorted threateningly as she approached with her hands in the air.

When she was within five feet of him, he reared and let out a thunderous whinny. Peliah tried to back up and fell down on her butt yet again.

Suddenly, a tall figure stepped between Peliah and Felaróf's slashing hooves. It was a khajiit. He sprang up, grabbed the lead-rope that dangled between the horse's legs, and pulled him back to the ground. Felaróf tried to run, but the khajiit was too quick for him. He placed a hand on the horse's cheek. "_Qu'or a mohir_," he crooned. "Shhh. _Murdo vistracar elibro am quinrhos_."

Felaróf huffed a giant sigh. He regarded the khajiit for a long moment, then his entire body seemed to relax. He lowered his great black head and pressed it into the khajiit's hands, all thoughts of running seemingly forgotten.

Peliah could only stare in amazement. Her breaths came in great shuddering gasps.

The khajiit turned around. It was Kazagh! Smiling gently, he offered her his hand.

She took it. The fur on his palm was silky-smooth.

He pulled her to her feet. She became aware of a dull ache in her tailbone, but it seemed distant and inconsequential in light of what had just occurred.

"This one is fiery, no?" Kazagh said, gesturing toward Felaróf. His voice was as rough as sandpaper and as smooth as honey. "My people would call him _Sai'iq_—spirit one."

Peliah could only stare at him in stunned silence. His voice was so rich and queer and beautiful.

He looked at her curiously. "You are alright, Sera?" he asked when she did not speak. Peliah noticed that when he smiled, the fur around his brilliant green eyes wrinkled and his whiskers perked up.

She breathed a great gulp of air. "Yes, I am fine," she said, her voice unnaturally high.

"You fell down hard," Kazagh reminded her. He cocked his head to the side.

"Yes, I know," Peliah assured him in that same strange, high voice. She touched her backside experimentally. She winced, regretting the action immediately; Kazagh's eyes sparkled with good-natured humor.

Felaróf sighed and began to crop the grass, his long tail swishing back and forth. Kazagh reached out and stroked his neck. "This one escapes me often," he said conversationally. "He likes to run."

"Do you tend to him often, then?" Peliah asked. To her relief, her voice seemed to have returned to normal.

Kazagh nodded. "Khajiit is the groom now," he said.

Peliah's curiosity overcame her shyness at once. "Do you like being the groom?" she asked.

"Yes," Kazagh said, his lips curving into a gentle smile. He regarded Peliah for a moment, then resumed his stroking of Felaróf. "It is quiet work. Peaceful work. The horses do not bang pots and pans."

Peliah smiled warmly. "I like the quiet too," she said. "That's why I stay in the library all the time. How come I never see you there anymore?"

Kazagh chuckled. "Does Sera _wish_ to see me there?" he asked in that low, smooth voice of his.

Peliah blushed furiously. "No. Well—I mean, yes. I'd like to talk to _someone_."

The khajiit shook his head ruefully. "Sera should know better than to talk to a slave. If it is conversation she wants, she should talk to the father."

Peliah's blush deepened. "I'd much rather be alone," she said, raising her chin defiantly.

Surprised, Kazagh raised an eyebrow at her. "Why?"

"Because he's… evil." Peliah averted her eyes. "You of all people should know that."

Kazagh stared at her. For a long while, neither of them spoke. The only sound was Felaróf's quiet munching.

Kazagh looked at Peliah appraisingly. For the first time, he really saw her. His eyes traveled down her slender figure and back up to her face. It occurred to him that she was quite lovely in her own way. Lovely and peculiar.

"Does Sera want to ride?" he suddenly asked, gesturing toward Felaróf.

Peliah looked up in surprise. "Oh—no. I can't. I mean, I've never tried."

Kazagh laughed lightly. "It is simple, Sera. Khajiit will hold the rope. All you have to do is hold onto the mane."

Peliah gave him a hesitant smile. "Promise you won't let him run away?"

The khajiit's smile widened into a toothy grin. He put a hand over his heart. "Khajiit swears it, Sera. He would sooner die."  
>"Well I hope that won't be necessary," said Peliah, gazing at Felaróf with some apprehension.<p>

Kazagh threw his head back and laughed. Peliah noticed how broad his shoulders were. "Don't worry, Sera," he said. "This one is willful, but he listens when khajiit speaks."

For some reason, Peliah trusted him. She couldn't help it. His eyes were like a field of summer clover and his smile was kind and genuine.

He bent over and formed a platform with his hands near one of Felaróf's knees. "Step here," he instructed.

Peliah stepped into his hands, grabbed a fistful of Felaróf's mane, and swung her leg up over the horse's back. Felaróf lifted his head, but he didn't seem terribly startled.

"There, you see," Kazagh said, still smiling. "Simple."

Peliah gave a weak laugh. "Sure." She couldn't help but notice how very high up she was.

Kazagh patted the horse on the shoulder and began to lead it toward the garden gate. Peliah gasped as soon as the beast moved; its bare, sweaty back was slippery. She leaned forward and gripped the base of its mane, but even so, her rump slid around with Felaróf's every step.

"Kazagh, I'm going to fall," she said urgently, the side of her face pressed against the horse's neck.

Kazagh and Felaróf both turned and looked at her. Kazagh was smiling. "Sera will not fall," he said soothingly. "Just hold on." Felaróf rolled his eyes and let out a giant snort.

They reached the garden gate without any trouble. As soon as they passed through it, though, Peliah spotted a khajiiti woman hanging laundry on the clothesline. She lifted a large white sheet from her basket and it fluttered in the wind.

Felaróf gave a shriek of fright and reared up on his hind legs. Peliah slid right off his back. She didn't scream, but terror gripped her as the ground flew towards her.

Her body hit Kazagh's chest with a dull _thump_. As he staggered backward, his furry arms closed around her—one beneath her legs and the other around her back. "Got you, Sera," his sandpaper-and-honey voice said in her ear.

As Felaróf dashed off, Peliah could only stare at Kazagh. As she watched him, his ears, which had been pressed flat against his head, twisted around, as though in concern. She noticed that he had beautiful black markings around his eyes—they looked like eyeliner.

Kazagh stared back at her. He noticed how very full and shapely her lips were. And her eyes weren't creepy, as he'd originally thought—they were bright and mysterious and lovely. Her body felt long and slender in his arms. She hardly seemed to weigh anything at all.

Peliah suddenly realized how very close Kazagh's face was; she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Blushing deeply, she leaned away from him.

That seemed to wake him up. What was he doing? He had no right to hold a lady of such importance.

"K-Khajiit apologizes, Sera," he stammered. He set the girl on her feet. Then he thrust his hands into his pockets and scowled at the ground.

"Why are you apologizing?" she asked, straightening her gown. Her cheeks were still very red.

Kazagh couldn't seem to bring himself to look at her. How long had he stood there staring at her like some kind of oaf? "Khajiit said you wouldn't fall," he murmured, unable to bring himself to tell her the real reason for his embarrassment.

Though she was still quite dazed, Peliah realized that Kazagh was uncomfortable. She reached out and touched his arm.

He looked up at her very quickly.

"It's not your fault," she said gently. "Thank you for catching me. I probably would have landed face-first in the mud if you hadn't been here."

Kazagh's heart fluttered. "Probably," he agreed, relieved to see that she was smiling. Maybe he had not made such a fool of himself after all.

"Peliah!" someone called from the house. "Peliah, where are you?"

Peliah stiffened. It was Minegaur.

"Khajiit must go!" Kazagh hissed. His chagrin was replaced with terror in an instant.

Peliah grabbed his hand. "Wait! Can I see you again?"

The corners of his lips twitched. "Perhaps, if Sera is coming to the stable. But now khajiit must go."

He pulled his hand out of hers and dashed away across the lawn, disappearing into the shadows behind the stable.

Old Dres Minegaur came waddling into the yard. When he saw Peliah standing there, his pudgy features arranged themselves into a smile. "Daughter! What a pleasure to see you outdoors," he said congenially.

Peliah was still slightly stunned. She stared at the place where Kazagh had vanished.

"I have been looking for you," Minegaur said. "I invited Uncle Sorex and Aunt Tilisu for dinner. Won't you join us, child?"

"I suppose so," Peliah said, tearing her gaze from the shadows. "Just give me a moment to change into something suitable."

"That will be just fine," the old elf boomed.

Together, Peliah and her father set off toward the house. She looked back over her shoulder once, but Kazagh was nowhere to be seen.


	5. Murrquinors

~o~

5

_Murrquinors_

Peliah awoke very early on the morning of her fourteenth birthday.

She wasn't sure why. The sky outside her window was still a deep purple. Her room was dark and cold.

She shivered and drew her blankets up around her face. But before she closed her eyes, she noticed a dark lump on the end of her bed.

She grabbed a match from her nightstand and struck it. Dim, flickering light filled the room and Peliah saw that the lump was actually a package. Surprised, she sat up in bed.

After lighting her lantern, she picked the package up. It was small, wrapped in thick brown paper, and tied with string.

Peliah looked around the room, but there wasn't anyone there. Whoever had left the parcel must have done so while she was sleeping.

Curious, she tore it open. Something dark and glittering fell onto the bed.

Peliah picked it up. It was some sort of bracelet, made of the tiniest little beads she had ever seen. Though the light was dim, she could see that some of the beads were red and some of them were gold. Together they formed an intricate pattern of suns and arrows.

Peliah's mouth fell open. She had never seen such a thing in all her life. It was so beautiful.

She sprang out of bed and dashed to her closet. When she had located her prettiest white frock, she slipped it over her head and did up the buttons in the front. Then she grabbed a comb, tore it through her tousled hair, and splashed cold water on her face.

She paused on her way out the door to tie the bracelet on her wrist. It was too large, but that didn't bother her. It was still lovely.

Peliah ran down the stairs and burst through the back door. The air was cold and damp. She ran across the glittering lawn. The icy dew drenched her bare feet.

When she arrived in the stable, she saw Felaróf standing outside his stall. Kazagh was currying him.

"Kazagh!" she called out excitedly. Without thinking, she raced toward him. Felaróf reared, but thankfully he was tied to a post.

"Woa, woa, _m'jurno quorohar_," Kazagh crooned, stroking the horse's flank. He turned to Peliah.

She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I forgot he hates that. But I got your present." She held out her wrist. The bracelet glittered in the lamplight.

"Khajiit is not giving Sera a present," Kazagh said in a high, false voice. "It must be from someone else."

Peliah rolled her eyes. "Right, because I have so many friends."

Kazagh grinned. "Alright, khajiit is _murrquinors_—found out."

"It's so beautiful," Peliah mused, turning the bracelet over and over in the dim light. "Did you make it?"

"Yes, but Sera is wearing it wrong." Smiling, he took the bracelet from her wrist. Then he pushed her sleeve all the way back to her shoulder. She shivered a little beneath his touch. "This one goes here," he explained, wrapping the bracelet around her upper arm.

"Oh," Peliah said. She hoped that it was still dark enough that he couldn't see her blush.

He tied the drawstrings. "There. Sera wears it well."

Peliah held out her arm. The dark red beads glittered like wet blood against her fair skin. "Thank you so much," she said, looking up into the khajiit's glowing green eyes.

Kazagh suddenly felt shy. "It is just something that khajiit is making in his spare time," he said, looking at his feet.

But Peliah knew that that all those tiny beads must have taken hours to string together. And spare time was probably hard for a slave to come by.

A lump rose in Peliah's throat. No one had made her anything since her mother had pieced Tinúviel together all those years ago. Her father liked to buy her expensive gowns and things, but he hardly cared what she thought of them. Just so they were fine enough to turn heads. Just so they reminded the people of Tear of the wealth of House Dres.

"Kazagh, won't you come to my birthday party today?" Peliah found herself asking. "Father has only invited young noblemen and their parents. I think he's trying to show me off. I've been dreading it all week but maybe if I had a friend there, it wouldn't be so—"

Kazagh put a finger to her lips. "Sera, surely you are not serious? For khajiit to be seen at a dunmer celebration is the height of impertinence. Poor Kazagh would lose his hide."

"But couldn't you hide under the table, like you did at my eighth birthday party?" Peliah asked. There was a pleading note in her voice.

Kazagh laughed out loud. "Ah, khajiit is forgetting about that! What a cheeky little fellow he was. He was surely lucky the mother did not find out."

Peliah smiled. "But she didn't," she reminded him.

"Luck," Kazagh said, looking knowingly into Peliah's eyes. "The mother was busy. But she would have been very angry."

Peliah looked at the ground. She knew that it would be foolish for Kazagh to attend her birthday party, but his presence would bring her so much comfort. She had been visiting the stables regularly over the last three months. Sometimes Kazagh was there. Sometimes he wasn't. But when he was, they would talk for hours.

"Do not make sad eyes, Sera," Kazagh said, putting his hand over the band on upper arm. "Khajiit will be with you _here_."

Seized by a sudden impulse, Peliah shook her head. "Here," she corrected him, picking up his hand and placing it over her heart.

Kazagh smiled so widely that Peliah could see his large pointed teeth. His eyes sparkled. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it.

Peliah's stomach flooded with butterflies. "Only if you want to be. In here, I mean," she babbled. "In my heart, I mean." She cringed. What on earth was she saying? She sounded like an idiot.

But Kazagh's smile didn't falter. "Sera is the only friend that this one has ever had."

Peliah blushed crimson with pleasure. "Me too. I mean—you're the only friend I've ever had, too."

Kazagh let his hand fall. Peliah's eyes flickered from Kazagh's to the ground. The khajiit's gaze, however, was steady and intense. He cocked his head to the side.

"Maybe khajiit will visit the party for a minute," he finally said. "He will stick to the shadows."

"Oh—well I don't want you to get into trouble."

Kazagh shrugged. "Khajiit will be alright. He is very stealthy."

He would certainly be running a risk, Peliah knew, but the party would be so much more bearable if she knew her friend was somewhere in the room.

"Well, I suppose I should go," she said after a while. "Father said he was going to hire a dunmer maid to help get me dressed today. I'm not sure why."

"He wants Sera looking her best for the young gentlemen," Kazagh said. His whiskers drooped.

"Well they can all go to oblivion," she said. "You're the only guest that I actually care about."

Kazagh brightened at once. "Well then, this one will surely be there."

"I'll look for you."

"Sera will not see khajiit. But khajiit will be there."

Peliah grinned. "I _won't _see you there, then."

She touched Kazagh on the arm before walking out of the stable.

~o~

Peliah accompanied her father down to the entrance hall to greet her new maid.

As it turned out, the maid was a middle-aged elf named Uradela. She was short and portly, with brassy yellow hair and a rather squashed, upturned nose. She was dressed in blue cashmere and she wore her hair in an elegant knot at the base of her skull.

"It is an honor to serve House Dres, Serjo," Uradela said, bowing low before Minegaur.

Minegaur waved his hand. "Of course, of course. I have been meaning to secure a handmaiden for my daughter for some time. Perhaps if you impress, you will find a permanent station here."

Peliah looked up at her father in surprise. He had said nothing of hiring a maid _permanently_.

"Now then, Peliah needs to look absolutely flawless today," Minegaur said. "I bought her a gown from Cyrodiil. It is, so I'm told, the latest fashion. You will find it lying on her bed. I expect her hair to be done up to match. She must be striking. She must be lovely. Do you understand?"

"I live to please, Serjo," Uradela said, smiling widely. Peliah noticed that her teeth were exceptionally large.

"Very good then." Minegaur turned to his daughter. "Take Uradela up to your room. I will expect you back down here in an hour."

"Yes father," Peliah said.

As it turned out, the dress came with a corset. Uradela laced it up very tightly, bracing her feet against the side of Peliah's dresser and heaving with all her might. Peliah gasped and clutched her bedframe for support.

"I can't breathe," she gulped.

Uradela only laughed. "Begging your pardon, Sera, but that's the whole point."

"To pass out?"

The maid chortled as she tied the strings. "No. But a comfortable corset isn't doing its job, is it? I can't believe that you've never worn one before, Sera. It's no wonder that you have no figure."

Peliah blushed. It was true that she had little in the way of breasts or hips, but it had never bothered her until now.

"In fact," Uradela said, "we may have to stuff your gown. I'm sure dear daddy wouldn't mind. I've been charged with making you look "flawless," after all. I'm guessing he's trying to marry you off?"

Peliah's stomach lurched. "No. I mean, he hasn't _said_ anything about marrying me off. Why would he? I'm only fourteen."

Uradela clicked her tongue. "Sera, look around you. Your kind always get married young, especially the girls."

"My kind?"

"Noblewomen." Uradela lifted the gown from Peliah's bed and held it up in the light.

Peliah's head swam. Why, the thought of getting married had never even crossed her mind. Surely Minegaur would ask her permission before trying to secure a husband for her?

"He just wants to show me off," Peliah said firmly. "He wants everyone to be impressed by how fine I look. That's all."

Uradela said nothing, but she did smirk in a self-satisfied sort of way.

When Peliah was fully dressed, she walked over to the mirror to get a look at herself. The dress was very fine. The bodice was tight, except in the bosom. The skirt flared out around Peliah's hips and tumbled to the floor in a mass of heavy gold fabric. Her waist looked exceptionally small.

Uradela rummaged around the room until she found two large silk handkerchiefs. Then she stuffed them down the front of Peliah's gown, ignoring the scandalized look on the girl's face.

"That will have to do," she said, turning Peliah around in circles so that she could examine her from every angle. "Now for your hair."

Uradela brushed Peliah's waist-length black hair until it shone. Then she coiled it up and pinned it atop her head. The mass of hair was very heavy; Peliah could feel a headache coming on from the moment the maid jammed the pins into her head.

Uradela procured string of pearls from a box on the nightstand. She put them around Peliah's neck and did up the clasp. "There," she said. "All finished."

Peliah stood before the mirror again. Her reflection stared back at her, red-eyed and ghostly pale. The mass of dark hair atop her head glistened in the morning light and the pearls at her throat shone. She scarcely recognized herself.

"You are ravishing, Sera," Uradela said in a very practiced voice. Beneath her fawning expression was that same knowing smirk. From the moment Peliah saw it, she began to feel uneasy about her new maid.

"Thank you," she said coolly. "Please leave me now. I will be downstairs shortly."

Uradela gave a deep nod and departed. After she was gone, Peliah went to her bed and lifted her pillow. Kazagh's armband lay beneath it. Peliah rolled up her sleeve, put the armband on, and rolled it back down. Though the fabric was tight against her skin, the bulge of the armband was subtle enough that no one would notice it.

She hoped.


	6. Khiri

~o~

6

Khiri

"Lady Peliah! How lovely to see you again."

Peliah peered into the black eyes of Soron Jeles as he stooped and kissed her hand. The lad had grown tall and gangly. His severely pointed chin and sneering mouth were just as unpleasant as Peliah remembered them.

Though she felt more inclined to wrench her hand out of his grasp, she nodded and said, "The pleasure is mine."

That seemed to please him. He smiled, revealing a set of yellowish teeth. "I was positively delighted to receive your invitation, you know. It has been too long since I last visited your charming manor."

Peliah smiled politely, though her memories of Soron's last visit were less than agreeable. "Please enjoy yourself," she said, gesturing toward the long, elaborately decorated tables.

She tried to draw her hand away, but he latched onto it. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd like to dance," he said hastily.

Peliah froze. Dancing? Nobody had mentioned anything about dancing.

As she stood there, deliberating, the fiddle ensemble in the corner of the room struck up a traditional dancing tune. Soron bared his disagreeable teeth and offered her his arm. She had no choice but to take it.

Around and around the room they whirled. Peliah felt extremely awkward because no one else was dancing. How could they? She was the only lady at the party. To make matters worse, she'd never danced before.

As they passed Minegaur, he beamed up at them mid-conversation with Urun Jeles, Soron's father.

Soron jerked Peliah around like a ragdoll. She couldn't have taken the lead even if she'd wanted to.

Before long, however, there was a tap on Soron's shoulder. It was Tarul Ivon, another lad of slaving stock whom Peliah had known from childhood. "May I cut in?" he asked, smiling.

Soron relinquished Peliah with a sour look.

Tarul was gentler with her, but there was something in his expression that made her uncomfortable. "How are you this evening, lovely lady?" he simpered.

"Fine, thank you," said Peliah, with a touch of chill.

"Just fine?" the lad asked. Very abruptly, he stopped dancing and pulled her into his arms. She was so surprised that she didn't resist.

"How about now?" he whispered, then kissed her ear.

Peliah stiffened. Tarul's grip on her arm was uncomfortably tight and he smelled like he hadn't bathed in a week or so.

Without commenting on the kiss, she wriggled out of his grasp. "I must go and attend to my other guests. Please, excuse me," she said, sweeping away before he could object.

Before anyone else could ask her to dance, she disappeared behind a noisy crowd of guests and plopped down in her father's favorite armchair. She shook her head and took a few deep, calming breaths, trying to forget Tarul's awful smell and the feel of his broad, slimy lips on her ear. What did he think, that she would enjoy being kissed by a man she barely knew?

Suddenly something brushed her elbow. She looked up, certain that she would see some nobleman come to ask her to dance, but there was no one. The crowd blocking her view of the room was as oblivious to her presence as ever.

Then she felt it again. This time she was startled. She had only looked away for a moment. Still, there was no one there.

She stared determinedly at her elbow. After a few moments, something covered in ashy brown fur flicked over the arm of the chair and brushed her skin.

Peliah threw a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. Why, it was Kazagh's tail! He must be hiding under the armchair!

Something patted her foot. She peered over the edge of the chair in time to see Kazagh's hand disappear beneath it.

Now she had to bite her knuckle to keep from laughing aloud. How like Kazagh, to try and make her laugh at a time like this. What did he think he was doing? Someone was sure to see him.

Seized by a sudden impulse, she reached over the arm of the chair, thrust her hand beneath it, and wiggled her fingers. Sure enough, she felt Kazagh's warm fur.

Trying not to giggle, she withdrew her hand and looked around her. No one seemed to have noticed what she'd done. After a few moments, she tried it again. This time she didn't feel anything.

Confused, she glanced around her. If Kazagh wasn't under the chair, where was he?

Suddenly a fuzzy brown tail lashed out from beneath the sofa across the room.

Peliah gasped. How in the world had he gotten over there so quickly? And judging by the continued contented drone of the party guests, he hadn't been seen.

Peliah squinted around the room, determined to spot Kazagh's next move. A movement near the corner of one of the tables caught her eye, but it turned out to be one of the guests loading his plate. Then she saw the closet door in the entryway swing shut on what appeared to be its own accord.

She got to her feet slowly, so as not to draw too much attention to herself. Two guests accosted her on her way across the room, but she managed to escape them after exchanging a few brief words. She stood near the closet door in the entryway for a long time, smiling vaguely. Then, when she was quite sure no one was watching her, she wrenched the door open, slithered inside, and eased it shut behind her.

It was pitch black. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Sera has a sharp eye."

Though she had known Kazagh was in there somewhere, she still jumped. "Kazagh! You scared me."

He chuckled. "My apologies, Sera. But khajiit is glad that you followed."  
>"Why did you go into the closet?" Peliah asked curiously.<p>

Kazagh hesitated for a moment, then said, "A secret. Would Sera like to see?"

She nodded, then remembered that he probably couldn't see her in the dark. But he grabbed her by the hand and guided her away from the closet door. Apparently his eyesight was much keener than her own.

There was a grating sound and the closet was filled with dim, yellowish light. Kazagh had opened a tiny door near the floor, hidden behind a row of old boots. It revealed a narrow tunnel, not unlike a laundry chute.

Peliah gaped at him in amazement. Then she knelt down and peered down the tunnel. It went straight along the wall for a few feet, then dipped down and out of sight.

"Does this lead to the kitchen?" she asked excitedly. Her eyes were wide with astonishment.

"And the slave quarters, Sera. It is how khajiit is sneaking up to the library as a boy without passing through the kitchen and getting seen by the mother."

"So your family lives down there?" Peliah asked.

Kazagh nodded. "To the right are the slave quarters, where khajiit sleep. To the left, the kitchen and the cellar."

"Oh, won't you take me down there, Kazagh?" Peliah begged. For years she had wondered where he and the slaves worked, ate, and slept.

But Kazagh shook his head. "Khajiit is going down there. Sera is staying here."

"You're leaving me here?" Peliah squeaked. "But I want to meet your family."

Kazagh smiled ruefully. "That is not such a good idea, Sera. The father would not like it if he found out."

"He won't find out," Peliah said impatiently. "I won't tell him. You won't tell him. Nobody will tell him. Come on, please?"

The khajiit laughed at her enthusiasm, though it secretly pleased him. "Sera, down there is no place for a good dunmer girl," he teased, chucking her chin affectionately.

Peliah blushed and pushed his hand away. "I don't care," she said. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't want to be a good dunmer girl."

Kazagh snorted at this. "What about the party?" he asked, his voice heavy with mock gravity. Though he was frowning at her, his eyes sparkled.

"You think I care about some dumb party?" she demanded. "I only care about—" she turned away, blushing furiously. She had been quite ready to say "you."

Kazagh frowned. He lashed his tail back and forth, as though he were trying to make up his mind.

"You've seen my world," Peliah said quietly, taking him by the hand. "Now I want to see yours."

Kazagh glanced down at their interlocked fingers and smiled gently. "Well…"

Suddenly Peliah leaned forward and pressed her lips to Kazagh's wet, cool nose. She wasn't sure what made her do it.

If her face had been pink before, now it was cherry red. She sat back on her heels and covered her mouth with her hand. _Oh, why oh why did I do that_? she thought desperately.

Kazagh gaped at her. He wasn't sure if the young Sera had really kissed him, or if he had simply imagined it.

Peliah looked at the floor, certain that Kazagh must think her a fool. "Sorry," she mumbled miserably.

But his face split into a wide grin. He grabbed Peliah's hand and drew it away from her mouth. Then, still grinning, he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. His lips were warm and soft.

Peliah smiled shyly and turned her face away from him.

Kazagh chuckled. Then he gestured toward the tiny doorway.

"You mean I can come with you?" Peliah exclaimed, forgetting her embarrassment instantly.

"Khajiit supposes so," Kazagh said, still grinning. "But Sera must not be gone long. The father will wonder where she is wandering off to."

Beaming, Peliah attempted to crawl through the narrow entrance. But Kazagh intercepted her, wrapping his long-fingered hands around her waist.

"This one will go first," he said. "There is a fall."

He brushed past Peliah and army crawled down the shaft. After a few seconds he fell out of sight.

"Your turn," his honey-and-sandpaper voice echoed up the shaft.

Peliah crawled in after him. It was really quite lucky that she was as skinny as she was; even so, her shoulders got stuck once or twice. She reached what appeared to be the end of the shaft and saw that it dropped straight down. Kazagh stood at the bottom, his arms outstretched.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Peliah slid down the tunnel. Cool air rushed past her and she landed in Kazagh's arms.

She opened her eyes and saw him smiling down at her. "Sera wasn't frightened?" he asked.

"No," she said stoutly. Her heart rate increased as she stared into his eyes.

"Good," he said. He set her on her feet. "This way."

They walked down a long, stone hallway. At the end of it there were three doors. Kazagh opened the one in the middle and stepped inside.

"Kazagh!" came a tiny, squeaky voice. "_riquir a sistar poqi_—"

Peliah stepped into the room.

A tiny khajiiti girl stood near one of the shabby beds that lined the wall. Her fur was as black as ebony and twice as shiny. As soon as she saw Peliah, her mouth fell open, revealing a set of tiny, needle-sharp teeth. She let out a startled wail.

Kazagh sprang across the room and covered her mouth with his hand. "_Jurnos kaskas tair a novir_," he said urgently. "Shhhh."

The girl wriggled out of his grasp and stared at Peliah with wide, fearful eyes.

Peliah knew that the girl had every reason to be afraid of her, but she was still wounded by her reaction. She wanted to run out of the room. Better that than impose her company on someone who clearly did not want it.

Kazagh spoke again, this time in Dunmeri. "Sera, this is the sister, Khiri."

Khiri looked up at her brother in terror. Her whiskers trembled as though she were about to cry.

"Khiri, this is the little Sera," Kazagh went on. He enunciated each word carefully, as though she did not understand the language well.

"Call me Peliah," the elven maiden said in what she hoped was a friendly voice.

"Peliah," Kazagh repeated. He smiled.

But Khiri turned her face away from Peliah and buried it in her brother's shirt.

Peliah felt terrible. She jammed her hands in her pockets. Her right hand brushed up against something hard. It was a lollipop. She had taken it from a tray at the party, intending to eat it later.

It gave her an idea. "Will you give this to her?" she asked, taking it out of her pocket and offering it to Kazagh.

Khiri turned her head. Her eyes widened at the sight of the shiny red lollipop. She looked at Kazagh uncertainly, then pointed at it.

"Yes, for you," Kazagh said, smiling.

"Here." Peliah walked forward with the lollipop extended.

Khiri regarded her very seriously. Then she reached out, quick as a flash, and snatched the candy. She jammed it into her mouth, wriggled under Kazagh's arm, and pressed her face into his shirt.

Peliah couldn't help but smile.

"You see, Khiri?" Kazagh said. "This one is kind."

The girl peeked around Kazagh's stomach and smiled bashfully. She had the cutest wee nose and the prettiest blue eyes.

"She's beautiful," Peliah said softly.

Kazagh beamed at Peliah; his eyes sparkled. Then he cleared his throat. "This one is _trouble_," he amended, tickling Khiri's tummy. The girl giggled and kicked.

"How old are you, Khiri?" Peliah asked.

She smiled shyly and looked at the ground. Then she raised her left hand and wiggled her chubby little fingers.

"One more," Kazagh prompted.

She lifted her right thumb.

"Six?" Peliah asked.

Khiri nodded. Then she pulled the lolli out of her mouth with a wet _pop_ and offered it to Kazagh.

"No, thank you, little one," Kazagh said affectionately.

Khiri stuffed the lolli back in her mouth. Then she spoke. "_Marbar tuqinon zandrhos—"_ she stopped and glanced at Peliah. "The—The mother say she looking for Kazagh."

Kazagh's brow furrowed. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Khiri knows not. She go to…" she wrinkled her nose. "She go to… horse place. _Quinrhotar._"

Kazagh pressed his ears against his head in apparent alarm.

"What's wrong?" Peliah asked.

"The mother is looking for this one. And now she knows he is not at the stable, where he should be."

Peliah's heart sank. "Will you be in trouble?"

Kazagh groaned.

Suddenly the door burst open. A tall, thin-faced khajiiti woman stood there, her ears pressed flat against her head.

As her eyes raked over Peliah, a low growl sounded in her throat.


	7. Secrets

~o~

7

Secrets

"_Qu'ros sarbar na tralos barquir_," the woman hissed. The fur on the back of her neck stood straight up. Additionally, with her ears flattened and her teeth bared, she looked positively alarming. Peliah couldn't help but compare her to a wild sabre cat.

Kazagh sprang to his feet. "_Qua'an wai! _This one means no harm."

The woman's eyes narrowed when Kazagh reverted to Dunmeri. "_Ja'wai! Kun jurnos itar murnozzar a sistar!_" she spat, jabbing a finger at Khiri.

Kazagh shook his head. "This one is different. Kazagh would not put the sister in danger. The mother knows this."

But the mother only hissed.

Khiri pulled the lollipop out of her mouth and waved it happily. "_A marbar!_" she chirped. "_Raju aj nalar a jai na_." She gestured toward Peliah.

The girl's mother didn't look pleased. On the contrary, she looked like she wanted to rip the contaminated lollipop out of her daughter's mouth.

Though she was slightly fearful of being attacked at this point, Peliah felt the need to defend Kazagh. "Please, I'm so sorry for intruding," she said. "I asked Kazagh to bring me down here. I didn't mean to upset anyone. I was curious, is all."

The woman looked at Peliah as though she were unsure of what she was. Her beetle-green eyes were wary. She opened her mouth once, then closed it.

"Peliah, this is the mother, Naba," Kazagh suddenly said. "She is doing the cooking. You spoke to her once before, no?"

Peliah hardly thought that this was the time for introductions, but she curtsied. "I'm truly sorry," she said. "I didn't mean—"

"Sera," Naba said, looking up suddenly, "do you know how long it's been since a dunmer is setting foot down here?"

Taken off guard, Peliah shook her head.

"One-hundred years or more. There was one bad slave. He was hiding in the cellar and the old Serjo came looking for him." Her eyes flashed. "He dragged him out and whipped him till the blood ran down. The Serjo would not let anyone tend to him, or they would get the same, he said. He left khajiit to die, chained to a post."

Peliah gaped at her.

Kazagh looked at his mother with wide eyes. "_A marbar_..." he whispered.

She silenced him with a look. "My _dirar_, predecessor, is telling me this."

Peliah looked at the floor. Shame flooded though her, hot and strong. She couldn't bring herself to look into Naba's eyes again, or Kazagh's, for that matter.

"_J'urno kazabar turno aj quir nazzagar_," Kazagh suddenly said in a hard, biting voice. Peliah looked up quickly. Kazagh was standing between his mother and the elven maiden with his ears pressed flat against his head and his teeth bared.

Naba shook her head. "She _is_ to blame, Kazagh," she said in apparent disagreement with whatever her son had said. "They are _all_ to blame."

"No," Kazagh snarled. "Only those who cannot forget."

A profound silence hung between them. Naba studied her son very seriously, her bright green eyes locked upon his. After a moment her knees went weak. She sank to one of the beds and buried her face in her hands.

Kazagh's demeanor changed instantly; his ears shot forward and he rushed to his mother's side and touched her shoulder. "_A marbar_?" he inquired.

She shook her head.

Peliah wasn't sure what Kazagh had said to his mother, but it had certainly upset her, whatever it was. She didn't emerge from behind her hands for some time, and when she did, her eyes were red-rimmed and wet looking.

She looked straight at Peliah. Then she stood and addressed her. "The son said that you are different—that you wish to befriend khajiit. This one has a hard time believing this is so. You see, she has never met a dunmer she could trust."

"I know. I mean, I believe you. Neither have I."

Naba regarded her in silence. Her tail lashed back and forth. "You are a strange one, Sera."

Peliah gave her a weak smile. "I know."

"What would Serjo say of this, I wonder?"

"He doesn't have to know," Peliah said stoutly. "I don't belong to him."

Naba gave her a disapproving look. "The daughter should respect the father."

Peliah thought about that for a moment. Finally she said, "I'll respect him when he deserves to be respected."

To Peliah's great surprise, Naba merely considered this for a moment, then smiled. "You are a rebel. Like my Kazagh," she said, rumpling the fur on her son's head. "But as for this one, she cannot forget. She has seen too much. But if Kazagh can… maybe he will find luck in this friendship."

Kazagh smiled at his mother. Then he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up off the ground. From the corner of the room, Khiri giggled with delight.

"_Mu'runo bar_," Naba laughed. "Enough foolishness. This one must return to the kitchen."

Kazagh put his mother back on her feet. His face was aglow with happiness. "_Or'njo, a marbar_," he murmured.

She patted his cheek. Then she turned and left the room without another word.

Khiri sprang up and ran to Peliah's side. She thrust her tiny, fury hand into Peliah's and beamed up at her, still slurping on her lollipop.

Kazagh looked at her in surprise. "Well, little Khiri is not so bashful anymore."

Peliah smiled and squeezed the girl's hand.

"Kazagh," Khiri said, "let us be showing this one _rasannabar_!"

"_Rasannabar_? What's that?" Peliah asked, turning to Kazagh.

"It is 'sliding.' Khiri, aren't you having work to do?"

Khiri put her hands on her hips and cocked her fuzzy head. "You are having work to do, too!"

Kazagh threw his head back and laughed. "This is true. Alright, come Khiri and Peliah. We _rasannabar_."

~o~

As Lady Peliah of House Dres sailed down the long dark chute, her long train—the hem now hopelessly tattered—flew out behind her, and her hair whipped along like a dark bird. Again and again she had to resist the urge to scream. The speed was exhilarating.

She flew out of the end of the chute into Kazagh's awaiting arms. His laugh rang out, echoing off the high stone walls surrounding them. Khiri jumped up and down, laughing and clapping her hands.

Kazagh spun around in a tight little circle. Peliah squealed a little and clung to his neck. "Stop! I'm already so dizzy," she pled.

Kazagh laughed and dropped her in the pile of dirty laundry at the base of the chute. "Well then! Is this one having a good time?"

"Oh yes!" Peliah cried, rolling out of her father's dirty underthings and clambering to her feet. "I can't believe I've lived here my whole life and never known out about all these chutes. They're such fun!"

"Such fun! Such fun!" Khiri echoed, jumping up and down, her wee tail lashing with excitement.

"Where is this one thinking the laundry is going when she is throwing it into a hole in the wall?" Kazagh wondered, his eyes twinkling down at her.

Peliah grinned and shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose I never thought about it before."

"_Hurujo m'jar_," Khiri suddenly said. She sprang into one of the seven holes in the wall and scurried up it. Peliah knew that she would use her sharp little claws to climb up the chute, her tail lashing out behind her.

Since she didn't have any claws, Peliah had a much harder time climbing up the chutes than Kazagh and Khiri did. But Kazagh had been more than happy to allow her to cling to his shoulders. When they reached the top, Kazagh slid down first. Then Peliah followed.

After several hours of sliding down the chutes, Peliah was tired, sweaty, and downright disheveled. She smelled of dust and there were spider webs in her hair. To top it all off, she could feel a big bruise growing on her knee where she'd smashed it on the floor when she missed the pile of laundry at the bottom of the chute. Yet she knew that she had never had such an enjoyable afternoon in all her life.

"This house is full of such secrets," Kazagh suddenly said. He turned to Peliah, smiling mysteriously.

Peliah knew that he was playing with her, but she couldn't resist the bait. "What kind of secrets?"

"This one _could _tell." Kazagh reached up and twisted his whiskers between his fingers. "Or he could show Peliah."

Peliah's heart leapt. She knew that she should get back to the party. She wouldn't be missed _much_, but if her father decided he wanted to give some sort of speech and Peliah wasn't anywhere to be found, there was sure to be trouble. It would be foolish to prolong her absence any further.

But Peliah had spent so much of her childhood reading stories of danger and adventure and mystery, dreaming that some day some such novelties might come into her life and swoop her up like the heroine of a grand story. When Kazagh looked at her like that, his expression still and careful but his eyes hopeful that she might embark on a wonderful adventure with him, her common sense dwindled away to nothing.

A peal of laughter tumbled out of the end of the nearest chute, and a moment later, so did its source—a ball of black fur. Khiri sprang up from the pile of laundry giggling, her eyes bright.

"Khiri, this one is showing Peliah the secret place. Will Khiri stay here, on the lookout for the mother?"

Khiri's smile faded a little. She twisted her head to the side as though she didn't quite understand.

"_Sunjora isi Khiri a'rir aquint hezzen a Marbar?"_ Kazagh said in his honey smooth rasp.

Khiri looked from Kazagh to Peliah, then smiled again, her stubby whiskers splaying outward and her pointy teeth showing. "I is going _on the lookout_," she announced, "I is going on the lookout so Kazagh is _lizznaba a marisa _pretty Peliah!"

Kazagh looked away in embarrassment. He picked little Khiri up by the scruff of her neck and set her down so that she was facing the other way. "Go stand by the door," he said gruffly, giving his sister a light spank. She giggled and ran down the hallway, tossing a look over her shoulder that was more gleeful than apologetic.

"What did she say?" Peliah asked, smiling lightly.

"Nothing," Kazagh huffed. Without another word, he grabbed Peliah's hand and dragged her to the only chute they hadn't slid down yet. "Come. This is the fastest way."

~o~

Kazagh and Peliah tumbled into a dingy gray room. Peliah clambered to her feet and looked around. At first she didn't recognize the place. Dusty sheets covered the furniture. Black curtains covered the windows.

She padded to the center of the room, leaving footprints in the dust. There stood a large rectangular something, covered by a sheet. Peliah grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled till it slithered to the floor.

The rectangular something was an easel. And on it was a nearly finished paining. Peliah twisted her head to the side, leaning closer, her eyes growing round.

The brushstrokes were fat, heavy things. Together they created a sea of yellow sand, stretching far away until they melted into the hazy horizon. In the middle of the rolling sea of sand stood an oasis, where tents made of hides surrounded a pool of water. The water was so precious and blue, the horizon so wavering, that Peliah's tongue seemed to swell in her mouth with imaginary thirst.

The girl looked around the dingy room. It all came flooding back to her. She wished she could cover up the painting—make it sink from the surface of her thoughts.

"Peliah?" Kazagh asked. His voice was soft, careful.

"I came here once," Peliah whispered. "I was looking for her. She told me to go away."

Silence rang through the room. "Who?" Kazagh ventured.

Peliah sat down in the dust. There seemed to be a sort of tightness, a pinching in her young breast. "My mother."

Kazagh placed a hand on Peliah's shoulder. She hadn't heard or sensed his approach. When he spoke, his voice was very tender. "She was the painter. The mother—Naba—is telling me this."

Peliah looked around. There were stacks of canvases leaning against the walls, their surfaces cloudy with dust. "Have you looked through all of them?"

"Yes. Some are beautiful. Many are sad."

It was quiet again. Peliah wasn't sure if she wanted to see any more. She looked at the unfinished painting on the easel again. There were little figures penciled in by the spring. Who were they, she wondered? Why were they there, in that desolate looking place?  
>"It is Elsweyr," Kazagh murmured, gesturing toward the painting.<p>

Peliah looked at him in astonishment. "How do you know?"

"The Mother is telling me," he replied. "She has seen Elsweyr, Peliah. It is where she is born, where she is always wanting to return."

Peliah gaped at him. Then she shook her head. "But how could it be? _My _mother never saw Elsweyr. Noblewomen don't go slaving. Besides, she was so young when she died. It can't be Elsweyr, it just can't."

Kazagh shrugged. His eyes were soft and round.

After several minutes, Peliah stood up and shook some of the dust off her skirt. Kazagh sensed that she was ready to go and took her hand in his. Instead of leading her back to the laundry chute, though, he took her into dark, dingy closet.

"Kazagh," Peliah griped as she brushed a large spider from her shoulder.

"Just a little further," he said softly.

At the back of the closet, he felt around in the dark. Peliah stood quiet until she heard a loud _crack_. Then sunlight spilled across her face.

Dunmer and khajiit stepped out onto one of the largest and grandest balconies that Peliah had ever seen. It hung over what must have been, at one time, a beautiful garden, but what was now nothing but a patch of weeds atop a roof.

Peliah looked about her in astonishment. "I never knew there was a garden on the roof," she breathed.

Kazagh smiled at her. "Khajiit is coming out here to play with his brothers at night, when he is very small."

The view was incredible. There were more rooftops than Peliah could count, stretching to the ashy horizon line, smoke curling from their chimneys.

Peliah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I wish I could fly," she whispered. "I'd fly away from here. I'd fly to a place where there's no ash in the air. Where the sky is blue."

"Don't open your eyes," came a gentle voice in her ear. Without warning, Kazagh slung her over his back. Eyes screwed shut, Peliah wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his furry cheek.

He dashed down the steps and into the garden. Peliah kept her eyes closed, but she could feel the wind playing in her hair, which had long since come loose. A giggle escaped her lips. "Don't you drop me, Kazagh!"

"No, never."

They raced around the rooftop, the wind rushing past them as though they were sailing through the clouds. Peliah smelled the sweet aroma coming off Kazagh's fur and for a moment she really did believe that she was flying far away from Tear.

When Kazagh was too tired to carry Peliah anymore, he tipped her into the grass, laughing and panting. Then he dropped down beside her, where she lay looking up at the rosy, late afternoon sky. Behind a thick layer of ash, the sun burned red.

"Why do you think my mother painted that picture, Kazagh?" Peliah murmured.

The boy propped himself up on one elbow, his manner instantly somber. "Maybe… because she is the mother. Peliah's mother."

Peliah turned her face toward him. "I don't understand."

"Well… why is Peliah befriending khajiit?" Kazagh said.

Peliah's eyebrows pulled together and her mouth flattened into a thin, hard line. "It's not the same thing," she said. "She was a bad person, Kazagh. An evil person. She was one of _them_."

Kazagh shrugged. "Maybe. But the pictures she is making—they are one of the reasons why khajiit is trusting Peliah in the first place."

The elf could only stare at him in amazement. Her blood red eyes shone.

"Maybe this mother is like Peliah," Kazagh said softly. "Not bad. You see?"

The sun crept across the sky and Peliah buried her face in Kazagh's neck. Her tears disappeared into his fur and were lost forever. He was only a boy, but he knew of the sorrows of his people and he knew Peliah's heart and forgave her, as he had already forgiven her, and would continue to forgive her for the rest of his life.

Finally he took her chin between his fingers and lifted her face from the safety of his fur. "It's alright," he whispered.

Looking back, Peliah wasn't sure if she'd been the first one to lean forward, searching for that first kiss, or if it had been Kazagh. But their lips met under the red sun and the heiress of House Dres would live from that point onward for Kazagh, son of the sands.


	8. The Master

~o~

8

The Master

When Peliah stumbled out of the closet thirty minutes later, she stumbled right into the waiting arms of her father.

"Peliah!" he cried out in vexation. Surrounding him were multitudes of noblemen, come to retrieve their sons, no doubt. Their eyes widened at the sight of a dirty and disheveled Peliah pulling herself from her father's grasp and blushing crimson.

The girl desperately tried to think of something to say. She realized that she must look very peculiar with her hair falling loosely about her shoulders and her dress torn to rags. It didn't help that she hadn't been seen for hours. How in the world was she going to smooth _this one _over?

"Serjo," came an oily voice from Peliah's left. The girl turned in time to see Soron Jeles step out of the closet behind her, smiling. "My most sincere apologies. It is all my fault."

Silence hung in the air. Minegaur's eyes narrowed. "Soron, isn't it?"

"Yes, Serjo," the boy said, bowing ever so slightly.

"Soron?" came a surprised voice from the crowd. Urun Jeles blinked at his son. As he his gaze flickered from Soron to Peliah, a gleeful look spread across his face.

"I detained Lady Peliah from the party," Soron said in a carrying voice. "We only meant to be a moment, but I'm afraid we were quite taken with one another, and talked and… er… entertained one another for quite some time."

The crowd tittered.

Minegaur's brow furrowed. He was furious with Peliah for vanishing from her own birthday party and for making a public spectacle of herself. On the other hand, if she'd spent the afternoon with her guests—one in particular—well, he hardly had reason to find fault with her, as this had been his intention all along.

"Well—I don't know if I—that's very well but I—" the old elf stammered.

Soron took Peliah's hand. She looked up at him suspiciously. What was he doing? Trying to help her? She wasn't sure if she cared for his approach...

"Please forgive us, Serjo," Soron went on in that slimy voice of his. "Your daughter and I—we could look into one another's eyes for eternity, and it wouldn't be long enough for either of us."

Peliah opened her mouth to dispute this, but all she managed was a nearly inaudible squeak.

"Well…" Minegaur frowned like an old toad and scratched his chin. "You say she is taken with you as well?"

All eyes turned to Peliah. She could hardly think, let alone speak.

Soron looked into her eyes. She didn't trust him; there was a bottomless hunger in his black eyes. But what could she do? For some reason, he'd chosen to help her. And she was too dumbfounded to think up a better story at the moment.

Without breaking eye contact with Soron, she nodded.

Minegaur cleared his throat. "Well then. Well," he said gruffly. "I suppose a courtship is in order. Lord Jeles, what say you?"

Urun grinned. "Such a courtship would honor myself and my son," he said.

"It's settled then," Minegaur boomed, his anger vanishing on the spot. "Young Soron will accompany Lady Peliah on a carriage ride tomorrow and join us for dinner afterward. Come everyone, my servants will have laid out an impressive selection of wines by now. Let us retire to the sitting area."

~o~

Peliah screwed her eyes shut as another bucketful of lukewarm water crashed over her head. Gasping and spluttering, she pulled her sopping wet hair out of her eyes.

"Must have been a dirty closet, that," Uradela remarked, dipping the bucket back into the tub. The water was nearly black.

Peliah stiffened. "Yes."

"Must have taken quite a bit of… thrashing… to accumulate all that dirt," the maid went on, dumping more water on Peliah's head.

Peliah spat out a mouthful of dirty suds. "What exactly are you implying?"

"Oh, nothing, Sera," Uradela said, but Peliah could hear the smirk in her voice. Once she was finished rinsing Peliah's hair, she took one of the big, fluffy towels from the cupboard and held it open.

After a moment of shy hesitation, Peliah stood and stepped out of the tub. She'd bathed herself for as long as she could remember, but for some reason, Uradela had insisted upon assisting her tonight. She felt better once she had a towel snugly wrapped around her middle.

Once she'd donned her favorite nightgown, she and Uradela left the bathing room together. In her bedroom, Peliah made a show of yawning and getting into bed, hoping that Uradela would get the hint and leave.

The maid gave her a toothy grin and blew out the candle. She left so quietly that Peliah wasn't sure that she had left at all. She lay in bed for several minutes until she became so agitated that she had to relight the candle and check the room for Uradela before she could close her eyes. And even then, she couldn't seem to fall sleep.

She didn't want to court Soron. Why Soron? Couldn't it have been anyone else? Obviously he wanted to court _her_—otherwise he wouldn't have taken advantage of the situation. But why?

Now she had to go on a carriage ride with him tomorrow. She couldn't think of a less agreeable way to spend the day.

She tossed and turned for some time, trying to get the image of Soron's yellow-toothed leer out of her head. _Some birthday_, she thought irritably. Then, quite suddenly, she remembered something else.

Kazagh's face loomed nearer, the sunshine playing in his striped fur. His lips touched hers. They were warm and soft and unbearably sweet. Her breath caught in her lungs; her arms and legs tingled. And then he pulled away with a soft smacking sound, leaving the space between them charged with the anticipation of their next kiss.

_Maybe not so bad, after all_, she thought to herself. And she dozed off with a smile on her lips.

~o~

"Has anyone ever told you how ravishing you are, Lady Peliah?"

Peliah blushed under the intensity of Soron's gaze. He was sitting quite near to her. Whenever she dared to meet his gaze, she could see herself reflected in his bottomless black eyes. She looked pale and frightened.

"No." She attempted a sniff. "It would hardly be _proper_."

"Ah, but upon the lips of a lover?" Soron asked, smiling. "Would it be proper then, Lady Peliah?"

Peliah squirmed. She knew that she wasn't "ravishing" or anything of the sort; it seemed that he was only telling her so because he wanted something from her, and that made her suspicious of his attentions. On top of that, she didn't like being so close to someone that she barely knew. She didn't like the way his arm rubbed up against hers. She didn't like the way the moving carriage jostled their bodies together.

She pressed her lips together and looked out the window.

"Oh come now," the young Lord said, leaning forward. "I've been more than reasonable. Open your heart to me."

_If only it were that simple_, Peliah thought to herself. This was their third carriage ride together. Though Soron had chattered incessantly on both occasions prior, Peliah felt that she knew little about him aside from the fact that he wanted something from her and was willing to act like a fool to get it. How could she open her heart to someone as conniving as Soron Jeles?

She sighed deeply. It would certainly make the countless hours that she was required to spend in his company more pleasurable. But no, she just couldn't do it.

Besides… how could she _possibly _open her heart to him when she could think of nothing but Kazagh? The way his lips his lips had pulled and sucked at her own as he cradled her face in his hands?

The girl blushed at the very thought of it.

It did not go unnoticed by Soron. He leaned forward and took her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at him. He smiled, thinking that she blushed because she harbored some sort of secret affection for him.

"Are you taken with me, then?" he breathed in her ear. "Do you love me as I love you?"

Peliah shivered. "Do not pretend to feel for me, Sir," she said, pulling her chin from his grasp. "We've only just met."

Soron's teeth flashed in his dark face. "Even so, I make no pretense. You are beautiful. If you would only allow me to kiss every inch of your slender little body, I would."

Peliah blushed furiously. "I—I'm barely fourteen," she stammered.

"Exactly," he said, leaning closer, his black eyes boring into hers. Without another word, he put his fingers to her jaw and pressed her head back against the headrest. Then he kissed her exposed neck.

She was too startled to object.

The nobleman, who Peliah knew to be five or six years her senior, traced the line of her throat with the end of his pointed nose, inhaling deeply. "Your skin smells so… delicious," he breathed.

Fear gripped Peliah; she couldn't seem to move or speak. She felt his hand on her ankle. It wormed its way beneath her skirt and crawled up her leg. It rested on her knee for a moment, then plunged all the way up to her navel. She shuddered as it inched its way down, between her legs. She could feel the heat and weight of it through her layered underclothing.

Suddenly the carriage lurched to a stop. They had arrived at the manor.

The jolt awakened Peliah as though from a deep sleep. _I don't like this, I don't want this_, she thought desperately. She had to do something.

"Stop," she said, pushing him away. "I don't love you and I don't want you to touch me—not now—not ever. Leave me alone."

And with that she sprang out of the carriage and ran up the front steps of Dres manor, leaving Soron gaping after her retreating figure.

~o~

"Peliah! Peliah! Open the door this instant, young lady!"

Peliah looked up from _Exotic Trolls and Where to Find Them_. Anxiety rushed through her. Her father never came looking for her in the library—her sanctuary—unless he was really angry. In fact, it had happened only once before. And she'd never forgotten it.

She'd jammed a silver candlestick through the door handles earlier. Now she slowly got to her feet and withdrew it, making it possible for Minegaur to open the doors. What else could she do? She couldn't hide from him forever.

The doors crashed open and he stood there blustering. He'd entertained Soron in the dining room until Peliah's absence had finally driven him to seek her out, much to his displeasure.

As his eyes raked over his daughter, his mood did not improve. She looked defiant, standing there with her pointed chin in the air. She wore a long white nightdress though it was quite early in the evening and she hadn't made an appearance at dinner yet. She'd torn every last pin from her hair. Not a single curl remained—it fell rippling and straight and black down her back.

"What's all this?" Minegaur said. "What's happened to your gown? What's happened to your hair? Have you forgotten that I invited Soron to dinner?"

"I have not forgotten," Peliah said calmly. "But I'm not going to dinner."

The old elf balked. "Not going to dinner?"

"No," Peliah said, her eyes flashing. "He insulted me. I won't keep company with him any longer."

His eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Insulted you _how_?"

"He…" the girl bit her lip. "He made advances toward me."

Silence hung in the air. Minegaur gaped at his daughter. "Made advances toward you?" he said, his ashen face flooding with color. "All this… because he made advances toward you? I have to endure embarrassment and _shame _all because your _suitor made advances toward you_?"

"It was most inappropriate," Peliah said loudly, taking a few steps back from Minegaur, who had begun to fume.

"Inappropriate!" Minegaur shouted. "He's_ courting_ you, idiot girl! Don't you know what that means?"

"No!" Peliah cried, clenching her hands into angry fists. "I don't have any idea what it means! I'm just a little girl!"

"Ha!" Minegaur snorted. "You're the most eligible bachelorette in all of Tear! Little girl, indeed! You'll be married within the year, if I have anything to say about it!"

Peliah's mouth fell open and she stumbled back into the bookshelf behind her, smashing her heel rather painfully in the process. She stood staring at her father, a portly, angry dunmer who she didn't seem to know.

"This is my fault," Minegaur huffed. "I've let you grow up doing whatever you liked whenever you liked. You are spoiled. You have no respect for me, so you have no respect for the suitor that I have so generously provided you with."

"I don't respect him because he treated me... like… like…." The girl couldn't continue; her eyes flooded with tears of embarrassment. "It's got nothing to do with you, Father."

"Well perhaps it should!" he shouted. His eyes were popping, now. "If you had any respect for me, you would treat my associates with respect. When you shame Soron Jeles, you shame your father."

Peliah withered. Something in her proud heart broke; in the face of her father's betrayal, she felt the full shame of what Soron had done to her. She hadn't wanted it. Not from him. It was as though he had taken something he could never give back. And she wanted it back. She wanted to give it to someone she cared about.

And Minegaur would never understand. That much was plain to her now. Soron and Minegaur, they were on the same side.

As Peliah cowered under Dres Minegaur, she realized that she'd made a crucial mistake in sharing her feelings with him. She'd known how cruel he was for years, now. What made her think that she was any different from a khajiiti slave to him? That he wouldn't barter her freedom for wealth and whatever else he hoped to gain from a union with House Jeles? And it didn't matter how she felt about it. She wasn't a person. She was an asset.

In that moment, Peliah sealed her father out of her heart forever. He didn't belong there.

"Did you hear me, girl?" Minegaur barked, bringing Peliah out of her reverie.

She glared at him wildly for a moment. Then her features drew themselves into an expressionless mask. The very life seemed to vanish from her eyes. "No, I didn't, father."

"I said, are you coming to dinner, or are you going to make me drag you there?"

"I'll come on my own accord," came her monotone reply.

Minegaur was too relieved to question her sudden change of attitude. The thought of telling Soron that his daughter wouldn't heed her father was almost unbearable to him. If there was one thing Minegaur prized and expected from those in his charge, it was strict obedience.

As Peliah passed her father on the way out the door, she accidentally brushed against his shoulder. A chill passed through her, but she didn't shiver. There was no more room for shouting and no more room for tears. It was a difficult game to play, but she knew that if she didn't play it, she just might end up in chains.


	9. Lullaby

~o~

9

Lullaby

Dinner was difficult. Though Peliah wasn't required to say anything after making a cool but reasonably convincing apology to Soron, she found it difficult to remain in his presence without betraying a hint of the turmoil that raged in her young breast. Though he didn't have anything to say to her, he felt the need to make eye contact every now and then and it made her flesh crawl.

Mercifully, Minegaur excused her early on the condition that she acquire a good night's rest, for Soron had planned a special surprise for her tomorrow. Upon this announcement, Soron leered at her. It was too much; she couldn't open her mouth or she'd scream. She could only curtsy and walked out of the room. Once out of sight of her father and Soron, she positively fled.

A gurgling sound was building in her throat by the time she reached her bedroom door. She flung it open and slammed it shut behind her. The gurgle broke into a wail. Unable to control herself, she slumped to the floor and sobbed in the darkness, her shoulders heaving.

"Peliah," somebody rasped.

Peliah gasped. "K-Kazagh?" she choked, her heart leaping into her throat. She looked around, but her eyes weren't sensitive enough to penetrate the darkness.

Within seconds, a pair of warm, furry arms wound their way around her body. Kazagh pressed his whiskery cheek against Peliah's and that was all it took—she gulped like a fish and sobbed. She sobbed so hard that she started coughing—and couldn't stop. Unsure of what to do, Kazagh cradled her against his chest and rocked her gently back and forth as the coughs shattered the stillness and cut him to the core.

The boy finally spoke in an agonized rasp. "Peliah. Peliah. What is wrong? Khiri is saying that she heard the father shouting at Peliah in the library."

Peliah could only wail in response.

Kazagh scooped her up off the floor. She went limp in his arms, her head lolling against his chest. He carried her to her bed and lay her gently down. Then he struck a match and moved to light the lantern.

"N-No," Peliah choked, shielding her eyes from the bright little flame.

Without a word, Kazagh extinguished it between his fingers.

Peliah curled into a ball. Before long, her pillow was drenched with tears. Kazagh tucked her in and stroked her sopping cheek with one finger. Then he withdrew it and stood looking down at her. The thin, lovely face that he had come to adore was paler than death, contrasting sharply with the girl's black lips. Kazagh's heart swelled painfully at the sight of it.

After a few moments, Peliah reached out in the darkness. "K-Kazagh?" she whimpered. "W-where did you g-go?"

Kazagh sprang over Peliah's body and curled up beside her, pressing his face into her hair. "This one is here," he choked. "This one is not going anywhere."

For some reason this only made her cry harder. She'd lived a life of privilege, but if there was one thing she'd never had, it was someone who cared about her.

She'd never felt loved before now.

She rolled over and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Kazagh, my f-father is going to make me marry Soron Jeles."

Kazagh's body went rigid. He'd seen the slimy nobleman around, of course; little went unnoticed by a khajiit in a house full of secret passages. He'd overheard Minegaur say that Soron was "courting" Peliah—whatever that meant.

"Peliah would never marry such a slimeball," Kazagh said confidently.

"I don't have a choice," Peliah whispered. "Today—my father—you should have heard him. He doesn't care how I feel about it. He'll never listen to me—never."

Kazagh sat in stunned silence. A sadness such as he had never known came over him. Of course, he should have known that this would happen some day.

"I—I don't want to marry him," Peliah said in response to Kazagh's silence. Then, with vehemence, "I'd rather die."

"Please—don't say such things," Kazagh moaned.

The anguish in his voice startled Peliah. She put a hand on his cheek and was surprised to find fresh tears there.

"Oh—Kazagh," she breathed.

He didn't want her to marry Soron. Did that mean that _he_ wanted to marry her instead? Her broken heart gave a dull thud.

She leaned forward, searching for his lips in the darkness. She kissed him softly—so softly—afraid that her heart would burst. His lips were so sweet and thin and delicate. He kissed her back, his right hand resting lightly on her cheek. He traced her prominent cheekbone with his thumb and kissed her once, twice, a third time.

Peliah pulled away. Fresh, hot tears leaked out of her eyes. She could never marry Kazagh. It was foolish to entertain the notion. She couldn't allow herself to love him, even—not when she was doomed to marry someone else.

But she already _did_ love him. She loved everything about him—the sweet smell of his furry neck—the broadness of his shoulders—the way his lips pulled and sucked at hers—the warmth radiating from his body...

And she loved his love for her.

"Peliah will not marry the slimeball," Kazagh said. "This one will not allow it."

"There's something else, Kazagh," Peliah said slowly. "He touched me. He touched me… down there." She choked out a sob.

Kazagh stiffened. "He is doing _what_?"

But Peliah couldn't say any more. She buried her face in Kazagh's sodden neck and cried.

A low growl sounded in the boy's chest. Suddenly he was gone, leaving Peliah was alone in the bed.

"Kazagh! Where are you going?" she cried out.

"This one is going to borrow the brother's dagger and kill himself a slimeball bastard," the boy growled.

"Kazagh, stop!" Peliah cried, leaping out of bed and tripping over the leg of her nightstand. Just before she hit the floor, Kazagh's hands caught her shoulders.

He sighed deeply.

"Kazagh, don't you know what they'll do to you if you attack a noble?" Peliah asked as Kazagh helped her to her feet.

Kazagh snorted. "This one knows. He knows well."

"Then why would you do it?" Peliah groaned.

Silence hung in the air. Then Kazagh took Peliah's chin between his fingers and gazed into the bright red eyes that could not see him in the dark. "Because this one loves Peliah. What is happening to _him_—this does not matter. He will keep her safe."

A lump rose in Peliah's throat. "Kazagh," she breathed, "if you love me, you need to keep _yourself_ safe, because I love you too and—" she whimpered "—I would die without you."

Kazagh flung his arms around her and crushed the air out of her lungs. "Truly?"

"Yes," she gasped, her face growing hot. Alas, the darkness couldn't hide her blush from Kazagh.

"Life without Peliah," he breathed in her ear, "is _khis'iro_—dead."

This time, his lips found hers first. He kissed her softly at first, then more enthusiastically, his arms winding around her tiny waist and drawing her tightly against his body. She flung her arms around his neck and shivered with delight. She wanted to be as close to him as she possibly could.

Finally Kazagh broke the kiss. "The slimeball can wait until morning, no?" he said breathlessly.

"Oh, don't stop, Kazagh," Peliah cried out softly. "Don't stop…"

He kissed her with his ears pressed forward, listening to her fast, shallow breaths—the whisper of her lips on his—the pounding of her heart. She felt so tiny in his arms. He ran his hands down her back, marveling at the silky smoothness of her skin.

Peliah sighed with contentment and buried her face in Kazagh's shoulder. He kissed her exposed neck and for one horrible moment she was reminded of Soron. But there was something different about Kazagh's lips on her neck—they were tender and dear. She loved them. She wanted them there.

After a few minutes, Peliah's body began to relax. Sleepiness washed over her like warm water. Without warning, her knees buckled and she slumped to the floor.

Kazagh caught her. Chuckling, he carried her back to bed, where she curled up and closed her eyes. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Stay with me," she whispered, kissing him lightly on the nose.

Kazagh deliberated for a moment. If he were caught in Sera's bed—if he were caught in her _room_ even—well, it would be bad. Very bad. He would be whipped and perhaps put to death.

But the thought of leaving her now was so much worse.

"Alright," he said, and sprang into bed. He snuggled up to Peliah and tickled her cheek with his whiskers. After a moment, she gave a belated giggle; her eyelids were growing very heavy. She felt warm—happy, even. The day's horrors seemed to melt away in the comfort of Kazagh's embrace.

"Kazagh," she mumbled, "I love you more than anyone in the world."

He smiled in the darkness.

Suddenly the door creaked open, flooding Peliah's bedroom with light.

Peliah looked up in alarm as Kazagh slid under the covers. The door only opened a crack, so she couldn't see who stood behind it. After a few tense seconds, it snapped shut again.

Minutes passed. Peliah tried not to breathe. Finally Kazagh slid out from under the covers. "Who was that?" he asked in an almost inaudible whisper.

"I don't know," Peliah replied uneasily. "Probably the maid."

"The dunmer?"

Peliah nodded.

Kazagh chewed his lip for a long moment. "This one should probably go," he finally whispered.

"Oh please don't," Peliah gasped. She sat up in bed; her heart throbbed at the very thought of it. "Please don't go!"

"Shhhh," Kazagh whispered, stroking her cheek. Her panicked expression changed his mind at once. She needed him—he could see that.

"This one is staying. This one is here," he assured her.

Peliah slumped to her pillows with a sigh.

Kazagh propped himself up on one elbow and gazed upon Peliah's lovely face. He stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers and began to hum, his honey and sandpaper voice filling the dark room. He hummed a song that his mother used to sing to him when he was a cub.

Peliah smiled softly. "So beautiful," she murmured. She wanted to stay awake and listen, but within minutes, the voice that she knew and loved so well lulled her under the waves of deep and blissful slumber.


	10. The Elf's Revenge

~o~

10

The Elf's Revenge

The following morning dawned cold and blue. Long before Peliah would have normally awoken, her eyes popped open and her hand shot to the other side of the bed, only to find it unoccupied. The sheets were cold.

"Kazagh," she whispered. "Kazagh?"

There was no reply.

Of course. As a slave, Kazagh's day began much earlier than her own.

Peliah lay gazing up at the dark ceiling. Memories from the night before came flooding back to her. She smiled. It was easy to pretend that the sheets were actually the baby smooth fur on the undersides of Kazagh's arms, resting against her skin. Though the circumstances that had brought about their meeting had been less than agreeable, Peliah could scarcely remember them in light of what had happened afterward.

_He loves me_, Peliah thought, her body flooding with warmth. _He loves me_…

Her heart seemed to swell. Whatever happened today—whatever Soron's "surprise" was—it didn't matter. She could get through it, as long as Kazagh would be waiting for her at the end of the day.

Peliah lit the lantern, sprang out of bed, and dashed into her closet. She found a simple blue frock and pulled it over her head. Then she snatched her hairbrush off the dresser and ran it through her tousled black hair, looking into the mirror and smiling at a reflection whose eyes sparkled with life.

She knew that Uradela would arrive soon, so she headed off to the library to enjoy some quiet solitude before her long day with Soron. As soon as she arrived, however, she realized that she was not the only person in the dark, musty room.

A lantern glowed at the northern end of the library. Peliah tip-toed over, her heart in her throat. What she saw disappointed her, but only briefly.

Little Khiri sat reading a book that was almost as big as she was, her ears pressed forward eagerly. Her stubby tail lashed back and forth as she devoured the words in front of her. As Peliah watched her, she was reminded of another young khajiit, reading by lamplight not far from this very spot.

"Hello Khiri," she said quietly, so as not to startle the girl too badly.

Khiri's head whipped around; as soon as she saw Peliah, however, her alarm changed to glee. "Pretty Peliah!" she cried, and flung her arms around Peliah's legs.

Delighted by her response, Peliah bent over and hugged the child. "What are you reading?"

Khiri opened her mouth, then looked puzzled and closed it again. She pushed the book toward Peliah and pointed to a paragraph near the bottom of the page. "Khiri is not knowing most of the words," she confessed. "But she reads about a fox and flowers here."

Peliah read aloud, "'Mr. Fox ran through the meadow, gathering as many flowers as he could carry. There were red maribolds, yellow tulipoos, and silver-blue petuniadoodles. Mr. Fox bundled them up until he could hold no more, then headed off for home. Mrs. Fox was so glad!'"

On the following page was a picture of a fox in suspenders, running through a very colorful meadow. Sunshine streamed through the trees and grass; butterflies and bees dotted the flowers. In the background was a brilliant blue sky, the likes of which neither Peliah nor Khiri had ever seen in real life.

Khiri held onto the book and gazed down at it hungrily. "Someday Khiri is knowing _all _words," she said matter-of-factly. "The mother is showing them to her."

Peliah remembered when Kazagh told her that his mother had taught him how to read. She must be in the process of teaching Khiri as well. "You can come here whenever you want," Peliah offered. "There are lots of fairytale books, just like this one. I can help you read the words you don't understand."

Khiri positively beamed. "Oh Peliah! Khiri is liking this very much!"

Peliah finished the story of Mr. Fox and the Field of Flowers. After that, Khiri read a story to her. Peliah helped her with the words she didn't know. With each page that Khiri turned, the quaver in her small voice steadied and her smile grew wider. Hearing this made Peliah very happy. She'd never had anyone to share her love of reading with before, and she was so fond of sweet little Khiri that helping her in any way filled her heart with joy.

After what felt like five minutes, but was really an hour, the door creaked open. Peliah whirled around and saw Uradela step into the library. The elf looked around for a moment. When her eyes fell upon Peliah and Khiri, they widened with interest.

Peliah stood up. She didn't know what to do. Khiri looked up at her, then at Uradela.

"What's this? Consorting with slaves?" Uradela said softly. She looked at Khiri and wrinkled her nose.

Something in the elf's expression made Peliah bristle. "She wanted to read, and I said she might. I suppose that's alright with _you_?"

"Oh, certainly, Sera," Uradela said in a high, fawning voice that did not match her smug smile. "You are its master, after all."

Peliah clenched her hands into fists at her sides.

"Might I suggest that you return to your chamber, Sera?" the elf said. "Young Lord Jeles will be arriving within the hour, and Serjo has commanded that you must look your finest."

Peliah looked down at Khiri, whose eyes were still locked on Uradela. Her whiskers trembled.

"Don't worry about the slave," Uradela went on. "I'll return it to its… dam."

Peliah's blood boiled. For one desperate moment, she wanted to pick up the lantern and smash it over Uradela's sneering head. "No," she said, working to keep her voice in check. Then an idea seized her—she knew how to make the maid pay for her disrespect.

"Khiri is coming with me today," she said in a flat, hard voice. "She'll be my handmaiden. Not you."

Uradela's eyes widened. "…Oh?"

"So I won't be requiring your services," Peliah said. "Leave us."

The maid blinked. For the first time since Peliah had known her, she seemed genuinely surprised. Then her expression hardened. A slave had taken her position. Even if it were only for a day, there was no greater insult.

"As you wish… Sera," she said coolly. She turned on her heel and hurried out of the library. Her exit was followed by a startled silence.

Khiri stared in amazement. "Khiri is going with _Peliah_?" she gasped.

"If you'd like to," Peliah said slowly. "If your mother says it's alright."

The girl made Peliah jump when she shouted, "Wheeeeee! Khiri is going with Peliah!" She sprang to her feet and dashed into the broom closet. "Khiri is asking the mother and coming right back!"

Moments after Khiri's departure, Peliah realized that she had made a terrible mistake. Uradela was sure to go straight downstairs and tell Minegaur what had happened, in which case he would suspect Peliah of befriending the young slave she'd defended. And such a thing would not be good for Khiri. She would be punished—not only for reading when she was supposed to be working—but for speaking to Peliah. For a slave, this was the ultimate act of impertinence—hadn't Kazagh told her so a million times?

She half hoped that Naba would refuse her request. But deep down, she knew that she wouldn't. She trusted Peliah.

Peliah sighed. Suddenly, a shiver ran down her spine. She turned and looked over her shoulder; Uradela was long gone, but an ominous silence hung in her wake.

~o~

Peliah was afraid to leave Khiri alone. What if Minegaur confronted her during his daughter's absence? So when Soron's carriage pulled up to the gate and Peliah set off down the walk, Khiri, dressed in a simple brown dress, trotted after her, carrying a bag of Peliah's lipsticks and powders.

Soron was startled. "What's going on?" he asked as the carriage set off and Khiri plopped down on the seat next to Peliah.

"This is my handmaiden," Peliah said. She was afraid to betray too much affection toward Khiri, lest Soron grow suspicious of their friendship and alert her father.

Soron raised an eyebrow at her. "It's hardly… proper… for a slave to attend a lady of such importance," he said.

Peliah thrust her nose in the air. "I needed someone to carry my bag and that Uradela wench was nowhere to be found," she sniffed.

Soron's eyes narrowed to slits. "I see."

Silence followed. Peliah looked out the window at the passing city. Manors made of brick and stone, gardens filled with withered purple plants, and dunmer in rags and riches alike rushed past. Khiri looked, too. She was silent, as Peliah had warned her not to speak in Soron's presence, but the excitement on her face at gliding through the streets of Tear in such a grand carriage was evident.

All at once, Peliah realized that she was smiling at Khiri. Hoping that Soron hadn't noticed, she frowned and stared at her slippers as hard as she could.

Soron pulled a pipe out of his pocket, lit it, and puffed away, filling the carriage with acrid yellowish smoke. After some he turned to Peliah. "I hope you have—ah—reconsidered your feelings for me, Peliah."

Noting that his manner was more businesslike than usual, Peliah answered carefully. "Perhaps," she said slowly.

"What you said yesterday was not something that I would expect someone in your position to say," he went on.

Peliah felt her temper rising. "And what position is that, exactly?"

Soron cast a very obvious glance at Khiri. Then he smirked. His eyes were cold.

Peliah felt a swooping sensation in her stomach. _He knows_, she thought desperately. But how _could_ he?

"Why, the position of a daughter who wants to please her father, of course," he said all too innocently, smiling widely and showing his teeth.

Peliah looked into Soron's bottomless eyes. She could feel Khiri's warm body beside her own and suddenly she realized that she was far more vulnerable today than she had been yesterday. Whether Soron knew about her friendship with Khiri or not, she was responsible for the girl's safety.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered.

He leered at her. "Oh, not much. This handmaiden of yours—" Khiri whirled around "—it's an eyesore. Let's drop it off at my manor so we can enjoy a more worthy view."

Peliah knew better than to let her temper get the best of her, this time. She looked at Khiri, then back at Soron. "How would she get home?" she asked.

"Oh, that can be arranged easily enough," Soron said airily. Then to the driver, "Stop by Jeles Manor."

As the carriage lurched to a stop, Peliah fought the urge to fling her arms around Khiri's tiny body and refuse to let go. She was afraid to let the girl out of her sight. And she knew how frightened she must be at the prospect of going into a strange house among strange dunmer. She couldn't leave her, she just couldn't.

On the other hand, Peliah got the distinct impression that Khiri wasn't safe in the same carriage with Soron. Perhaps getting her out of harm's way would be best.

Soron instructed his footman to take Khiri to the slaves' quarters, upon which the footman ordered Khiri to follow him. Khiri looked at Peliah with wild, frightened eyes. Peliah nodded at her, but it was the only reassurance she dared to offer.

As they drove away from Jeles Manor, Peliah tried not to cry, but her eyes stung.

"Much better," Soron said. "Now we can enjoy ourselves, can't we, Peliah?"

His words hung in the air. Peliah closed her eyes. "Yes, we can, Soron," she whispered.

And from that point onward, she was the plaything of Soron Jeles.


	11. Beads and Bile

~o~

11

Beads and Bile

The following morning, Peliah awoke with a start.

"Peliah," a honey-smooth voice issued from the darkness.

"Kazagh!" she squeaked, opening her arms. Instead of falling into them, however, Kazagh merely took her hands in his. He was trembling.

"Peliah, where is Khiri?" he asked.

Something in his voice frightened Peliah. "You mean… she hasn't returned?"

"From where?"

There was a swooping sensation in Peliah's stomach. She sprang out of bed and rushed to her closet. "Yesterday—Soron insisted that we drop her off at his manor. He said he would arrange for someone to bring her back. Apparently he didn't."

Kazagh grabbed her arm. "Why—why did this happen? Why did Peliah agree to this?"

Peliah pulled her arm out of his grasp and yanked a gown over her head. "I had to. He would have hurt her if I hadn't, Kazagh."

"Why did Peliah take her?" Kazagh demanded, his voice rising.

"I don't know!" Peliah cried. "It was stupid. The maid said some horrible thing about your mother, and I—I just snapped! I told her I wanted Khiri to be my handmaiden instead of her."

Kazagh groaned.

"Don't worry, I'll ask my father to send someone to fetch her," Peliah said quickly.

Kazagh's eyes widened with alarm. "No—no. The father must not know that Khiri is Peliah's friend."

Peliah bit her lip. "Well…what if I make it sound like I simply want my servant back? I can pretend that I don't care about Khiri at all—that I just want someone to carry my things around."

Kazagh hesitated.

"My father sees Khiri as his property. He's not going to give her away," Peliah pressed. "She's worth a great deal of money."

"He cannot be trusted," Kazagh said. "Peliah knows this."  
>Peliah shook her head. "How else are we going to get her back? We need his authority. I don't have any pull with Soron. He's using her to get to me."<p>

Kazagh moaned and put his head in his hands. Peliah wanted to comfort him, but something held her back. Would he _want_ her consolation at a time like this? She didn't know.

"I'll get her back," Peliah said stoutly. "I promise, Kazagh."

Finally he looked up. "…Alright."

Peliah found her father in the dining room. He'd taken Akrash down from the mantle and was polishing it with a rag.

"Good morning, father," she said, forcing a little warmth into her voice.

He started. "Oh—Peliah—good morning."

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Minegaur smiled. "Oh, just wiping the dust off old Akrash. See how it shines when it's clean?" He tilted the sword this way and that; it flashed in the dim light.

"It's lovely," Peliah managed to say. Really she couldn't care less about something as trivial as an old sword.

"Isn't it?" Minegaur said, taking it by the hilt and pointing it at the ceiling. "I've asked the slaves not to clean it; I'd rather do that myself. This sword and I go way back."

"Speaking of slaves," Peliah said, "have you heard anything from Soron regarding one of your young khajiit?"

Minegaur examined his reflection in Akrash's gleaming surface. "Ah—yes. The one you abducted yesterday without my permission?"

Peliah blanched, but retained her composure. "I am the lady of the house," she said brashly, "and yet I am not permitted to command the youngest slave?"

"It is not the youngest," Minegaur said, returning Akrash to its plaque, "and you won't be the lady of the house until I'm dead."

Peliah looked at the floor. "Soron commands his slaves. And his father lives."

"Soron is a man," Minegaur said harshly.

Peliah swallowed. In truth, she didn't want the command of her father's slaves—not now, not ever. But the fact that her father's regard for Soron was greater than his regard for her hurt, even though her affection for the old elf was long gone. It meant that even as his own flesh and blood, she meant less to him than a man he barely knew, who consistently abused her—all because she was female, apparently.

"Fair enough," she said, though she hardly thought it so. "So the slave—she's still at Jeles Manor?"

"She's at Jeles Manor to stay," Minegaur said, rather impatiently. "Soron came over for breakfast this morning. He made me an offer. Five-thousand is a great deal more than what I would usually ask for such a young khajiit."

The room swam. Peliah took a great, rattling breath and sank into a nearby chair.

"This distresses you?" Minegaur asked, eyeing Peliah curiously.

After a few seconds, she managed to compose herself. "No," she said in a flat voice. "But it is inconvenient. I dismissed my maid, whom I disliked."

"Oh, that won't be a problem. She's probably heading up to your bedchamber as we speak to bathe and dress you for the day. I took the liberty of reinstating her for you."

Peliah understood this perfectly well. She had no say in who attended her—no say at all. And she'd be foolish to try and dismiss Uradela again.

"I understand," she said, then stood, curtsied, and left the room.

~o~

Peliah searched the stables for Kazagh, but didn't find him. She realized that he must be in the slave's quarters with his mother. But she didn't dare seek him out there. She couldn't put anyone else at risk. Not after what had happened to Khiri.

So, reluctantly, she returned to her bedchamber. As Uradela prepared her for another dismal day with Soron, it took all her self-control to keep her emotions in check.

_It's all my fault_, she thought. _All my fault._

The thought of Khiri, happy, smiling, her great blue eyes too large for her dark face—the child who had trusted her, to her own determent—it was almost too much to bear. She would be separated from her family forever. And what if Soron treated her as poorly as he treated Peliah?

Kazagh would never forgive her. How could he? The loss of such a precious child—it was too much to forgive. And his mother! What would she think of Peliah now? Surely she would regret condoning a friendship between her son and a dunmer.

The gown that Uradela dressed her in was much too revealing for a child of fourteen. But the girl knew better than to complain. Her father had ordered it, no doubt.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection on her way out the door—she was wearing so much makeup that she hardly recognized herself. Uradela had stuffed her bra. As a result, her tiny, pearl-grey breasts nearly popped out of the top of her dress.

The girl's face flooded with color; she lowered her eyes and left the room without a word.

Soron met her in the sitting room. "You look lovely," he said, smiling most unpleasantly.

Peliah looked at the floor. "Thank you."

Soron grabbed her by the shoulders and steered her toward a loveseat near the window. He sat down and drew her onto his lap.

"There now. Isn't this nice?" he said in a low voice, taking her chin between his fingers and forcing her to look at him.

Thinking of Khiri, Peliah said, "Yes."

"I asked your father for your hand in marriage this morning. Did he tell you?"

Peliah shook her head.

"Well, I'm happy to report that he gave us his blessing. Isn't that wonderful, my pet?"

"Wonderful," Peliah said in a voice that did not seem to belong to her.

Soron smiled. "Good girl. You see now, this is as it should be." He grabbed her knees and drew her legs around so that she was sitting sideways across his lap. Then, without warning, he buried his stubbly face in her cleavage.

She was too sad to care.

"Mmmm," he breathed. "Delicious."

Peliah closed her eyes. _Kazagh…_ she thought, _I love you._

Soron reached into her dress and pulled her breasts out. He twisted her tiny purple nipples between his fingers, then drew them into his mouth and sucked them, one after the other.

_Remember my birthday, Kazagh? When you took me out on the roof? We said we'd fly away from Tear._

Soron hoisted her skirt up to her navel and pulled her stockings off, one after the other.

_Far, far away…_

He kissed his way up her bare leg.

_And maybe—just maybe—I could be your wife. Someday…_

Soron laid her down on the loveseat and kneeled over her, straddling her stomach. He began to undo the buttons on his trousers. After a moment of fumbling, he pulled his member out and began to work himself over her.

She'd never seen a penis before, nor had she any idea of what one might look like. Nauseated, she screwed her eyes shut.

"Look at it," Soron commanded.

Reluctantly, Peliah obeyed, though she'd never seen anything so disgusting. Soron moved forward until he was straddling her chest.

"Now open your mouth," he sneered.

"W-Why?" she faltered.

"You'll see."

She parted her lips. It was all he needed.

Grabbing her by the hair, he rammed his cock into her mouth.

Peliah let out a garbled cry and tried to push him off of her, but her hair was wrapped around his hand. When she struggled, he yanked it so hard that tears of agony sprang to her eyes.

Then he began to thrust, his member hammering the back of her throat again and again and again. It was so hard to breathe—he was sitting on her chest—suffocating her—

She tried to shield her throat with her tongue, but somehow ended up scratching him with her teeth in the process. He slapped her—hard—and pulled her hair.

Suddenly he groaned a wild animal groan and shoved his member down her throat. Something warm and wet filled her mouth, but she couldn't swallow because he was blocking her throat. She couldn't breathe, either, because he was blocking her airway—she clawed at him desperately, choking—heaving—

When he finally pulled out, she fell to the floor and vomited. Trembling, she propped herself up on one elbow, gasping for breath. She looked up at Soron, and in that moment, her hatred for the elf manifest itself in her eyes.

He responded by grabbing her shoulder so tightly that fingernails dug into her skin. "Don't think I don't know what this is," he suddenly shouted, grabbing Kazagh's bracelet and yanking it off of Peliah's arm. Beads flew in every direction.

Peliah let out startled cry.

"Your maid works for me. She told me about your little cat boy," Soron snarled, inches from her face. He slapped her so hard that her head snapped back.

"What are you talking about?" Peliah wailed.

"Uradela works for me! I told her to seek a position at House Dres so she could spy on you! How do you think I knew about_ Khiri_?"

"If you hurt her," Peliah said in voice that trembled with fury, "If you _touch_ her—"

"You think _you _can threaten _me_?" Soron shouted, spit flying out of his mouth. "I'm holding all the cards, you stupid bitch!"

Tears streamed down Peliah's face. It was true. Soron _did_ hold all the cards. If he chose to, he could have Kazagh beaten, sold, or killed. He'd only have to relay his suspicions to Minegaur, who would undoubtedly take his word over Peliah's.

Peliah bowed her head; her tears mingled with the spit and cum and vomit on her face and dripped onto the floor. "Don't hurt him," she whimpered. "I'll do anything… anything you ask."

Soron grabbed a handful of her hair, twisted it around his hand, and jerked her head back. "You wouldn't be stupid enough to try and see him again, would you?"

Peliah let out a strangled sob. "No, never," she wailed. "I promise. Please don't hurt him. I'll do anything…"

"I know you will, Peliah," Soron said coldly. "Now, go and make yourself presentable. I think I'll announce our engagement at dinner tonight. Might even invite my father. Won't that be _wonderful_, pet?"

Her reply was barely audible. "Yes."

"Good girl." He got up, did up his trousers, and strode out of the room, kicking Kazagh's brightly colored beads aside as he went.


	12. The Angel of Destruction

~o~

12

The Angel of Destruction

As promised, Soron announced their engagement over dinner with Minegaur and Lord Jeles. Lord Jeles was so delighted that he insisted upon taking Soron to Mournhold to celebrate. They would be gone for three months.

"One final hurrah, before I tie the knot!" Soron cried, raising his mug in jubilation. Though he didn't say so, Peliah was sure that his idea of a "final hurrah" was sleeping with a great many prostitutes and drinking as much flin and brandy as he could possibly hold.

Minegaur assured them that in their absence, he would make all the wedding arrangements himself. And so the date was set for two weeks after their return.

Peliah spent the next two days in her room. She barely noticed the passing of the time. She simply lay on her bed, clutching Tinúviel to her chest and staring at the wall.

It hurt to think, so she tried her best not to. But Kazagh's sweet smell still clung to her pillows and without really meaning to, she imagined him there beside her. _"This one is here,_" he seemed to say. "_This one will always be here_."

A tear rolled down her cheek. Perhaps it would be better to die than to go on living under Soron's thumb. He would rape her every day and force her to do things that no innocent fourteen-year-old girl should ever have to do. And she would be powerless to stop him.

And to top it all off, she'd never see Kazagh again. The very thought of it was agony. She'd rather die a million times. She'd hang herself—stab herself—poison herself—at the very first opportunity. No one could stop her.

Except Kazagh.

But he didn't come. Peliah couldn't understand it. She knew better than to go looking for him, but she'd thought he would have come looking for _her_ long before now—if not to visit her, at least to find out what had happened to Khiri. But he never came.

_Perhaps he knows_, she thought. _There are ears all over this house. Perhaps he already knows what happened to Khiri._

If such were the case, he probably hated her. He had every reason to. She'd taken his little sister. She'd promised to get her back. And she'd failed.

At this, Peliah broke down and wept. She'd failed him—he the only person who'd ever loved her.

For two days, no one came looking for her. Not even Uradela. For this, Peliah was grateful. It meant that she didn't have to pretend to be okay.

"Three months and two weeks," Peliah told Tinúviel in a whisper. "That's all the time I have left. I won't marry Soron, Tinúviel. Death will be much kinder to me."

The doll gazed up at her reproachfully.

"What else can I do?" Peliah cried. "Kazagh is lost to me forever. Without him, I have nothing—nothing—_nothing_!" and she broke into fresh sobs, though her eyes hurt from crying so much.

When Minegaur finally sent for her, it was to discuss wedding plans.

"It is my wish that you select your own wedding gown," he said. "I have a catalogue here… pick one, and we'll have it made for you. Your price limit is two-hundred thousand."

"Two-hundred thousand… septims?" Peliah gasped.

Minegaur chuckled. "Of course. This is your wedding, Peliah."

Peliah squeezed her eyes shut tight. The idea of walking down the aisle in a dress that was more valuable than most of the houses in Tear was appalling to her. It was bad enough that she had to marry Soron—now she had to make a spectacle of herself in front of hundreds of nobles, too?

_I'll be dead before then anyway_, she thought desperately. _I'll never have to wear the dress. I'll just pick the cheapest one…_

And so she did. Though it was made of satin and sprinkled with jewels, it was rather ugly. Fitting, she thought, for the wife of Soron Jeles.

~o~

The days passed, each very like the one before. Peliah got up, ate breakfast, went to the library, and read until her father sent for her. Together they went over flowers and cakes and decorations. Very early on, Peliah learned to feign interest in all this, for Minegaur became dreadfully angry whenever the words "I don't care" passed her lips.

"You ungrateful wretch," he shouted on more than one occasion. "I'm giving the wedding of the year for _you _and _you don't care_?"

_This isn't about me_, Peliah thought. _This is about you_. But, of course, she did not say so.

Three months passed with no sign of Kazagh. Peliah wondered if she would forget the sound of his voice. Sometimes she looked at the brightly colored beads (which she'd picked up off the floor stashed in a box) and thought of Kazagh's long, slender fingers—how they'd touched every single one of them—and she kissed them and cried over them.

The day before Soron was scheduled to return to Tear, Peliah took a handful of the beads and strung them together with a bit of thread. She tied them around her neck and tucked them under her gown. That she could take one small piece of Kazagh with her to the gods was a great comfort to her.

On her way out of the room, a bit of stationary atop a stack of books on her desk caught her eye. Perhaps she would write something to Kazagh… if not a goodbye, an apology for what had happened to Khiri. It would, of course, in no way make up for it. But at least it was something.

Peliah sat down, and after a moment's deliberation, wrote, _Dearest Kazagh_. A lump rose in her throat. She was tempted to crumple the paper and throw it away. But something stopped her. She took a few deep, steadying breaths and put her quill to the paper. Without warning, it flew across the page.

_Soron has taken you from me forever, just as he has taken Khiri. It would have been better for you—and her—if we'd never met. Even so (can you forgive my audacity?), I'm glad that we did. Remember the painting of Elsweyr that we found in my mother's old studio? Remember the beautiful colors? Oh, how they dazzled my eyes! I, denizen of the land of ash—I was never meant to see such colors. But now that I've seen them, Kazagh—now that I know such colors exist—I wouldn't trade them for anything. I see them every waking moment. Thank you for showing them to me. Thank you for showing me that there's more to life than ugliness and pain. I know that you'll never be able to forgive me for what I've done. But when I'm gone, know that you were the one streak of color on the canvas of my life. I love you—always._

~o~

Peliah would have liked to deliver the letter to Kazagh herself, but of course, he wasn't in the stable. A tall, burly khajiit with reddish fur was currying Felaróf when Peliah walked in.

"Do you know Kazagh?" she asked, before he could melt into the shadows.

He stared at her for a long moment, as though unsure of whether or not he'd heard her correctly. "Yes, Sera," he finally said. "Kazagh is the brother."

Ah. So she finally got to meet one of Kazagh's older brothers. "Could you give him this for me?" she asked, offering the folded slip of paper.

After a moment's hesitation, he took it. "Yes… Sera," he said respectfully.

As he turned to leave, Peliah bit her lip. "Please," she suddenly said, "please make sure he gets it. It's very important to me."

This plea stopped the khajiit in his tracks. He half turned, his eyes curious and frightened all at once. Then he rushed out of the stable.

_ He's probably going to throw it in the fire_, she thought. She walked back to the house with a heavy heart.

When she got back to her room, she sat down on her bed and closed her eyes. It wouldn't be the end of the world if Kazagh didn't get the letter. After all, she'd told him that she loved him before. But how would he know that she_ still_ did, even after everything that had happened?

Suddenly his voice filled her head. _Life without Peliah is khis'iro—dead._

Warmth flooded through her.

He knew. Of course he did.

Peliah drew a tiny phial of yellowish liquid out of her pillowcase and clutched it to her chest, smiling. She'd said her goodbyes—the only ones that mattered, anyway—and tonight, before bed, she would drink to a better future.

Suddenly the door burst open. In strode Uradela, smiling most unpleasantly. Since Peliah's discovery of the maid's treachery, pretenses between them were few and far between.

"What is it now?" Peliah said scornfully, surreptitiously returning the bottle to her pillowcase.

"Lord Jeles is back," she said, baring her yellowish teeth.

Peliah's heart sunk. "What are you talking about? He isn't due back until tomorrow."

"Well, they made good time," she said. "And your father invited him over for dinner. Aren't you _glad_, Sera?"

"Shut up," Peliah snarled. She hadn't planned on seeing Soron ever again. Now she was faced with an entire evening in his revolting company.

Uradela hummed as she bathed and dressed Peliah. Peliah shot her a dirty look now and then, but didn't say anything. She knew why the vile elf was in such high spirits. She actually relished Soron's mistreatment of Peliah.

When she was "presentable," Peliah went downstairs. Soron was visiting with her father in the entryway.

"Ah, here is my lovely wife," Soron said loudly, striding over to Peliah and kissing her face.

Peliah, struggling with the urge to wipe off her cheek, said, "I trust that you enjoyed yourself thoroughly?"

"Quite," he said with a leer that showed that he understood her perfectly.

"But she's not your wife yet, Soron," Minegaur said jovially. "Or have you two love birds gone and gotten married in secret?"

"Good sir! If I were already married to your beautiful daughter, I'd be confined to the bedroom, not gallivanting around the country." Soron said unsmilingly, looking Peliah right in the eye.

Minegaur could hardly miss_ that_ insinuation. "What cheek!" he boomed, pretending to box Soron's ears. "What a thing to say, indeed! You rogue! I'm quite fond of you, my dear boy. Now, let's go eat. After you, after you."

Dinner was long and dull. Peliah spent the bulk of it fantasizing about the bottle of poison in her pillowcase. It was a miracle potion. Once she took it, she'd never have to listen to her father's boring dinner conversation again. And Soron—he'd have to find another rich girl to blackmail, because he wasn't getting Dres estate. And he wasn't getting her.

Finally Minegaur said he was going to bed. "I'll let Peliah see you to the door tonight, Lord Jeles. I've got a bit of a headache." And he waddled up the stairs, leaving them quite alone.

"Excited for the wedding?" Soron said when the old elf was no longer in earshot.

"I'm going to bed," she said flatly, getting to her feet.

Soron did likewise. "I could join you. I don't think your father would mind."

Peliah went rigid. "I'm tired," she said, trying to sound more annoyed than terrified. "There'll be plenty of time for that after the wedding."

"Or," he said, advancing toward her, "since I'll own every single slave in this house when your father dies, maybe you should _think carefully_ about denying me now—or ever."

Peliah gaped at him.

He smirked down at her. "What a pretty little thing you are," he said softly. "I do enjoy the sight of my cock in your mouth."

She could only stare at him, petrified. Memories of their previous encounter filled her head and adrenaline shot through her body. She wouldn't let him do this to her—not again. Without giving him any warning, she bolted.

He caught up with her in three long strides, grabbed her by the arm, and yanked her to the floor.

"No!" she shrieked, flailing.

"Shut up!" he snarled. He kicked her in the stomach—hard.

Gasping for breath, she tried to crawl away, but he kicked her again, this time in the back. Too dazed to move, she could only watch as he snatched a steak knife from the table and sliced her dress open from bust to hem. He tore it off of her and did the same to her corset, then her underthings.

When she was naked except for her stockings, he yanked her to her feet. "Go over to the fireplace," he commanded, "and turn around. Put your hands on the mantle. Now!"

"No," she choked.

He slapped her; the sound echoed off the stone walls. "Did you hear what I said? I will kill every last one of your furry friends if you don't do what I say RIGHT NOW YOU STUPID BITCH."

She let out a strangled sob and did as he said. How conscious she was, in that moment, of her defeat—she hadn't beaten him after all. After all her planning, Soron was still going to rape her. She stood with her back to him, trembling, naked, and vulnerable, waiting for him to hurt her.

He came up behind her and spoke in her ear. "You're mine. Mine. Don't you EVER forget it. You belong to me."

An earsplitting crack rent the air.

Peliah whirled in time to see Soron stumbling backward, clutching at his forehead, from which gushed a fountain of blood. Advancing toward him with a candlestick raised in one hand was Kazagh, his eyes burning with hatred, his ears pressed flat against his head.

Soron grabbed the knife he'd dropped on the floor and lunged at Kazagh, slashing the air—Peliah shrieked—but Kazagh sprang out of the way and flung the candlestick right into Soron's face. It struck him in the nose and he screamed in agony, slashing at nothing.

"Peliah—run!" Kazagh cried.

Quick as a snake, Soron lunged at Kazagh, grabbing him by the knees and dragging him to the ground. He tried to stab Kazagh, but Kazagh caught him by the wrist just in time. Then he tried to work the blade into Kazagh's unprotected throat, but the khajiit was stronger than he looked; he strained against Soron with all his might.

The sight of Soron's blade at Kazagh's throat woke Peliah up. She grabbed the soup pot off the table and brought it crashing down on Soron's head, sending bits of yam and potato flying. The elf howled and Kazagh was able to worm his way out from beneath his body and scramble to his feet.

"Run, run Peliah!" Kazagh shouted.

"No!" she cried. "Not without you!"

Soron clambered to his feet and took a drunken swing at Kazagh; Kazagh sprang out of the way and buried his fist in Soron's stomach with so much force that the elf's breath left his body in one great _whoosh_. He sank to the floor, mouth opening and closing, eyes popping. He looked like a dying fish.

"Hurry," Kazagh begged, grabbing Peliah by the hand. Suddenly Soron reared up and grabbed her by the throat. He dragged her down to the ground, choking her with all his might—

"Get out or she dies!" Soron bellowed. "I'll kill her! I'll kill her if you so much as touch her again!"

Kazagh's lips parted and a terrible shriek of rage tore its way up his throat and out his open mouth. Through the darkening spots in her vision Peliah saw him spring upon the mantle, snatch Akrash from its plaque and land lightly on the ground, his eyes narrowed to slits, his ears pressed back against his head—he was the angel of destruction—beautiful, lithe, powerful—what chance did _Soron Jeles_ stand, anyway?

Kazagh swung with all his might, driving Akrash into Soron's exposed neck. One moment the elf was choking Peliah—the next, his head was sailing over hers, flinging a trail of blood over her naked legs and coming to rest in the middle of the rug. Soron blinked three times, as though in disbelief; his lips moved wordlessly as his blood pooled on the carpet. As his hands fell away from Peliah's neck, a spasm in his cheek marked his final movement, and he died.


	13. The Apprentice's Tale

~o~

13

The Apprentice's Tale

In the slums of Tear, Tivaris Ano leaned against his forge and sipped his morning cup of bittergreen tea. It was dark yet; the streets were empty aside from the occasional patrol. Soon the sun would penetrate the dense layer of ash draped over the city like a huge blanket, but until then, the light was purplish and dim.

He finished his tea and dumped the dregs into the forge; it hissed menacingly. "Worthless apprentices," he muttered to himself. It was half past five and he was still the only one in the shop. He looked around at the piles of metal shavings, bits of leather, and lumps of pumice that littered the floor.

The old elf shook his head. When _he_ was an apprentice, he never left his master's shop in such disarray. On the contrary, he worked long into the night, wiping the armorer's bench until it shone, greasing the rickety old grindstone, and sweeping the floor. How eager he'd been to please. He'd considered himself lucky to be learning the trade. And how quickly it had grown from a trade to a passion! Now he was the greatest armorer in Tear.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him. "Finally," he said, turning, "how many times have I told you kids—"

But it wasn't his apprentice. It was a woman in a white gown with a shawl wrapped around her head. Her face was hidden, all except her eyes, which glittered in the semi-darkness.

Tivaris took a few startled steps backward, then, composing himself, asked, "Can I help you?"

The woman looked him rather appraisingly before speaking. "I'm looking for the master armorer," she said in a high voice that indicated that she was young, perhaps fifteen or sixteen.

Tivaris wiped his hand on his apron and offered it to her. "Aye. Name's Ano, Tivaris Ano."

She shook his hand, but did not offer her name. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," she said. Tivaris noticed that her hand was very soft. Here was a girl who hadn't done a lick of work in all her life. This, combined with her attire, which was very fine, gave Tivaris the impression that she was rich—possibly noble.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

The girl looked around, as though to make sure no one else was in earshot. Once satisfied, she looked the armorer straight in the eye and asked, "Can you teach me the craft?"

Tivaris started. "Teach—you? Why?"

"I'll pay you," she said, extracting a bulging sack of coin from a loop on her belt. She handed it to the befuddled armorer and he weighed it in his hands.

"A thousand septims," he said wonderingly.

"A thousand for each session," the girl corrected. "That's my offer."

Tivaris stared at the gold.

"I'll throw in an extra thousand," she went on, "for privacy."

"Privacy?" Tivaris's eyebrows knitted together.

The girl leaned forward. "If you were to close down your shop and dismiss your apprentices during our training sessions, I would be much obliged."  
>Tivaris scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Why? I mean, what does it matter?"<p>

"I require your full attention," the girl said, eyebrows raised. "You can hardly give me that, Sera, with a shop full of customers, can you?"

"I… I suppose not," Tivaris admitted, though he thought the girl's request very peculiar.

Suddenly a shout rent the morning stillness. "Master!"

Tivaris turned in time to see his youngest apprentice come running up the stairs. "Master! Did you 'ear? Did you 'ear the news?"

Vexed by the interruption, the armorer barked, "What? What is it? What do you want, boy?"

Apparently used to his master taking a less-than-friendly tone with him, the boy only grinned. "Me mum 'eard it from the guard, Serjo. Lord Jeles—'is son got kill't! They found 'im in front of Jeles Manor! On'y they didn't know it was 'im at first, coz 'is 'ead was chopped clean off! They found it stuck on top the flag pole—run clean up through 'is neck an' out 'is eye, it was!"

The armorer's mouth fell open. "By the blood of Boethiah," he breathed. "Can it be true?"

"True as I's alive," the boy replied stoutly.

Tivaris scratched his chin. "His father came in yesterday—ordered a new blade: ebony, with a filigree hilt. Gave me a sapphire—wanted it encrusted on the pommel. Was supposed to be a wedding gift for his son, as I recall."

"Aye, Serjo," his apprentice piped up. "I was there, remember?"

But the armorer didn't seem to be listening; he stared at the shop across the street, his dark eyes thoughtful. "A sapphire on the pommel," he muttered. Then, with a wry smile, "Guess he won't be needing it after all, eh?"

The boy giggled. Urun Jeles had, at one time, owned a large property in the slums, which he leased out at a high rate before turning its occupants into the street in order to tear the building down and build a manor for his mistress in its place, so the news of Soron's strange demise was a source of satisfaction for the common folk.

"Won't take them long to track the murderer down," Tivaris said. "Not exactly discreet, was he? Didn't exactly hide the body." Had he glanced at the girl in the veil, he might have seen a flicker of something like apprehension in her eyes; as it were, he only stared into his forge, deep in thought.

"They ain't found nothin' yet," his apprentice informed him. "Jus' a bloody sack a few miles down the road."

"Murderers leave trails," Tivaris said, waving his hand. "They always do. Thorough as murderers think they are, in the end, they always forget something."

A long silence followed.

Suddenly the girl in the veil spoke. "I beg your pardon, Sera, but you never gave me an answer."

Both the armorer and his apprentice started; the first had forgotten she was there, the second, in his excitement, had yet to notice her.

"Ah—yes," he said, coming out of his reverie. He stared at the girl for a long moment and then shook his head, as though to clear it. "I find your offer more than adequate, and I accept."

"Then let us begin right away," she said. "I want to learn how to mend swords. Today."

Tivaris frowned. Why would a lady of fortune want to learn to mend swords, of all things? It was tedious work. Wouldn't it be easier for her to bring the sword in question to him, so that he could mend it himself and save her the trouble?

But the sack of gold sat in plain view on the armorer's bench, and Tivaris wanted it very much, so he didn't say what he thought. Rather, he rounded on his apprentice and barked, "Go home, Drevis. I won't need you until tomorrow."

The boy was surprised, but very obviously delighted. "Sure, Master," he cried. "I'll tell the others, shall I?"

"Yes, yes," his master said, with a touch of impatience. "Now get out of here."

The boy whooped and dashed down the street. Tivaris flipped his "open" sign to "closed" and drew the blinds shut.

"Now then," he said, rounding on the veiled lady, "tell me about this sword you wish to mend."

~o~

The brutal murder of Soron Jeles rocked Tear from the foundation up. The lower class spread the news far and wide and agreed (amongst themselves) that the Jeles family deserved its big black eye. Many expressed the hope that more nobles would be murdered, for the gap between the upper and lower classes was growing, and tensions between them were at an all-time high. As for who the murderer was and what his motives might be, the peasants of Tear couldn't care less. Justice had been served and that was all that mattered.

The upper class, however, felt a much greater shock. At once it was determined that someone—probably a rich abolitionist from Cyrodil—had hatched a plot to undermine the slaving industry in the southeast. What else could it mean? Soron Jeles was first and foremost a slaver, engaged to the daughter of one of the most prominent slavers in the region. Had the wedding taken place, Soron would have become master of a vast estate and hundreds upon hundreds of slaves, not to mention a slave ship complete with shackles and crew, enabling him to make as many voyages to Black Marsh and Elsweyr as Minegaur had in his youth.

"What those bastards don't realize," Minegaur addressed his fellow slavers, "is that if it weren't for the slave industry, there would be no saltrice in Cyrodil, or anywhere in Tamriel; it's sold at _their_ markets because of _us_. Yet they cast us as villains for feeding half the empire!"

"Fools!" Dres Runil cried.

"Braggarts!" Marun Tarvil chimed in.

"More wine," Erin Vardil burped, holding out his empty goblet.

"Peliah!" Minegaur called.

Peliah came out of the shadows. Her eyes, which had grown redder than ever, glared out of her pale face. Her dark hair fell about her face and neck in long ringlets and she wore a form-fitting dress with a shockingly low collar.

Without a word, she filled the elf's cup. He leered at her, but was too drunk to pose much of a threat.

"This abolitionist idiocy has cheated my only daughter out of a smart match," Minegaur said, shaking his head. "The poor, pretty little thing. She pines so, but I will soon find another worthy of her hand." He looked around the table in a highly significant way.

"Were she not my first cousin," Runil said, eyeing her up and down, "I would simply beg you for her hand, Uncle."

"I know you would, my boy," Minegaur said, all at once jovial. "I know you would."

Peliah rolled her eyes.

The clock struck twelve. "My goodness, will you look at the time!" Minegaur cried. "I always get carried away in talking with you fine gentlemen. We must get together again soon."

The old elf bid each of his guests goodnight and tottered off to bed. After he was gone, Peliah slipped through a door at the back of the room and descended a narrow stone staircase into the kitchen.

"Kazagh is in the stables," Naba said, before Peliah had a chance to speak.

"Right," the girl faltered. She blushed and hurried out the back door.

The moon was peeking through a hole in the ash and a handful of stars gleamed in the black sky. Glittering dewdrops encrusted the grass; the night promised to be very cold. Peliah entered the stable.

There was Felaróf, tied to a post. His dark eyes rolled in his head. Beside him was—

"Kazagh," Peliah cried, rushing into the khajiit's open arms.

He hugged her to his chest and kissed the top of her head. "Kazagh has been waiting long. What happened? Does the Serjo suspect…?"

"No," Peliah said quickly. "He has no idea. I'm sorry for being late. He wanted me to serve drinks to his dinner guests."

Kazagh breathed a sigh of relief.

Peliah looked into his striking green eyes, which were wide with anxiety, and smoothed the worry lines on his forehead with the tip of her finger. "They'll never suspect _you_, Kazagh," she murmured. "Why would they?"

"The maid is knowing… she is knowing about _us_."

"But that's as far as she knows," Peliah said soothingly. "And if she tries to find out what we're up to, we'll kill her."

Kazagh sighed. Ever since his temper had cooled on the night of Soron's demise, he'd been increasingly fearful of being discovered, or _murrquinors_, as he expressed it. "This plan is crazy," he muttered. "Crazy."

The girl stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. He was too distracted to kiss her back at first, but the feel of her slender body against his allowed him forget his apprehension for the time being. Her lips were warm and soft—her skin as smooth and flawless as the unbroken surface of a pool of water. Kazagh broke her kiss and buried his face in her neck, savoring the softness of her skin and hair.

She shivered and threw her head back; a sweet sigh escaped her lips as the boy kissed her throat.

"What about the sword?" he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin as he spoke. "What about Akrash?"

"I think I'll be able to fix tomorrow," came Peliah's breathless reply. "The armorer allowed me to practice on one of his daggers today. He said I did a decent job rubbing out the marks."

Kazagh kissed her bare shoulder with great tenderness. "Khajiit wishes he could learn the art so Peliah didn't have to risk so many trips into the city."

"I like it," she said earnestly. "It's interesting. Besides, you wouldn't have the time. You've got to study your swordplay."

Kazagh sighed. "The brother is getting suspicious. He is telling the Mother that Kazagh is growing violent and _yavar_—restless."

"So he won't teach you anymore?" Peliah said worriedly.

Kazagh shook his head. "He does not say this, but Kazagh knows what he thinks. It is not good for khajiit to learn swordplay—the Serjo would be most displeased. The brother knows the sword because the father is teaching him as a cub, against the mother's wishes."

"How old was J'zura when your father… passed away?" Peliah asked, thinking of the reddish-brown khajiit who'd delivered that fateful letter to Kazagh.

Kazagh looked at the ground rather abruptly. The light in his eyes died almost instantly.

"I'm sorry," Peliah said quickly. "I didn't mean—"

But he caught her lips between his fingers, stopping her mid-sentence. "It is alright, Peliah," he said softly. "The father left us before Kazagh was born. J'zura was young cub. Probably seven or eight."

"Left you?" Peliah asked, her forehead wrinkling with confusion. "I thought you said that he…"

"He died," Kazagh said, meeting her gaze. "He left… this is what khajiit are saying when someone… goes to the gods. The Serjo sold him to a bad man who beat him. One day this man beat him so hard that he couldn't walk or eat. He died soon after."

Now it was Peliah's turn to look at the ground. "Oh," she said quietly. "I… I'm sorry, Kazagh…"

Kazagh touched her shoulder. "This is not Peliah's fault."

"I know, but…"

Sensing her discomfort, Kazagh changed the subject. "If J'zura refuses to teach this one all that he knows, he may be on his own."

"I can bring you some books from the library," Peliah offered, looking up at him. "Books on combat and swordplay; I'm sure I've seen some in the east wing before."

Kazagh looked pleasantly surprised. "This might work," he said thoughtfully. Then, eyes sparkling with humor, "This one could read on his days off."

Peliah tried to smile at the joke, but she was still quite shaken. Seeing that she was about to cry, Kazagh wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. "Shhh," he murmured. "_M'burno zzar_."

"I'm so sorry," she sniffed. "For your father… for Khiri…."

"Peliah," Kazagh said in a very serious voice; she was forced to look at him. "These things are not your fault."

"But Khiri—"

"Not your fault," Kazagh repeated firmly. "Kazagh knows this. The mother knows this. And maybe, someday, when the Serjo is dead, Peliah can buy Khiri back."

"I will," Peliah said, her voice thick with emotion. "And I'll set you all free."

Kazagh looked slightly taken aback. "Truly?"

"Of course," Peliah cried. "The moment his heart stops beating, I'll set you all free and book your passage to Elsweyr."

Kazagh gaped at her, wide-eyed. Then he swept her off her feet and spun her in circles.

"Kazagh!" she cried, "you're making me dizzy!"

He stopped spinning and hugged her to him. "_This_ one is the dizzy one," he said, laughing. "He has always wished to see Elsweyr for himself. But he will not go without Peliah."

Though he'd made his feelings for her rather clear already, Peliah blushed. "I would love to go with you," she said, "but would your family have me?"

"Of course," he said, kissing her cheek. "The mother is fond of Peliah. And Khiri is more than fond of Peliah."

Despite her present state of distress, Peliah beamed at him. "I love your family," she said, heart bursting with sincerity. "I love them more than anything. Except, well…" finding herself unable to finish, she kissed Kazagh on the mouth.

Smiling around her lips, Kazagh wrapped his arms around her backside and lifted her off her feet. She wrapped her legs around his hips and kissed him harder than ever, clutching the back of his head, her fingers working into his hair. Her lips moved with his like they were meant to be together, warm and wet—dancing partners, perfectly matched. She could feel his heartbeat through their clothing and wondered, languidly, if he could feel hers.

His breathing became more and more erratic as she traced his upper lip with the tip of her tongue; he surprised her by moaning into her mouth and tightening his hold on her buttocks. Trembling, he leaned against the door of Felaróf's stall and pressed his lips to her breasts, which appeared ready to pop out of the top of her dress at any moment. She shivered with delight and, acting on instinct, bucked her hips against his groin.

Kazagh broke their kiss with a gasp. Before Peliah could protest he had set her on her feet and whirled around, running his hands through his hair and hissing in Ta'agra under his breath.

Taken aback, Peliah peered around his arm, wide-eyed. "Kazagh?" she said uncertainly.

"_Thjiz jaji! Ma ahziss ja'!_"

Bemused, the girl shrank back. Had she offended him? She thought he'd been enjoying himself… but she knew so little of his culture that she also thought it probable that she had crossed some sort of line, invisible to her gray-skinned self.

The more she thought about it, the more distressed she grew. Two fat tears popped out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

When Kazagh finally turned around, the anger melted off his face and he rushed to Peliah and wiped the tears off her face. "_Ajo'iiliten_! Why do you cry?"

She wailed and buried her face in his chest.

Now it was Kazagh's turn to be confused; he regarded his love with alarm. "Peliah," he said in an agonized voice. "What is this?"

"I'm sorry," she blubbered. "I didn't know—I thought you wanted—I'm sorry if I did something wrong—"

Eyes alight with sudden understanding, he took her chin between his fingers and tilted her face upward. "Peliah, Peliah. Khajiit is the one doing wrong. He is letting his feelings get the better of him."

Peliah sniffed. "What do you mean?"

Kazagh bit his lip in an unintentionally alluring way (Peliah's heart thudded), and said, "Peliah is so young… this one should know better than to…." He trailed off, shaking his head.

Tentatively, she kissed his chin. "Not so much younger than you."

Kazagh sighed. "_Ottikr_—this does not matter. Perhaps, when Peliah is older… then feelings can fly. But not yet. Not now."

Peliah wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "I… understand," though she wanted nothing more than to wrap her legs around him instead.

He kissed her—very softly—and brushed her hair back. Then he smiled widely, as though in recollection of some delicious secret. He nuzzled Peliah and murmured, "Minx," as he kissed her pointed ear.

"Tease," she giggled, and nibbled his lower lip when he came in for a kiss.

"Peliah," Kazagh said, trying to sound stern, but laughing at her determination in spite of himself.

And he wrapped his arms around her and spoke of his affection until the sky grew pale and a new day dawned over Dres Estate.


	14. Cliff Racer

~o~

14

Cliff Racer

It didn't take long for the assumption that Tivaris Ano was stepping out on his wife to become the topic of conversation in every tavern in the neighborhood. The figure of his newest pupil was too fine, the locals argued, for that of an armorer's apprentice. Naturally, therefore, her visits meant that the armorer had found himself a lover. Had Peliah come within earshot any of this speculation, she might have laughed aloud, having been told by Uradela that her figure left much to be desired on more than one occasion.

Though Tivaris argued that there was nothing between himself and the likes of the veiled lady, in truth, he was rather taken with her. Unlike his apprentices, she was clever and eager to learn. Under the labor of learning the craft, her soft, slim hands quickly turned to stone, but she did not seem to regret this as other noblewomen would; rather, she worked on with a steady, focused intensity that reminded Tivaris of himself at the armorer's bench years prior.

And how quickly she learned! Whenever someone brought Tivaris a weapon that needed sharpening, polishing, or repair work of any kind, he saved the job for Peliah. Before long she could hone an edge as keen as Tivaris himself. She was particularly good at patching scratched or gouged engraving. Tivaris observed that this type of work, though tedious, seemed to interest her more than anything else. The afternoon sun crept across the floor as she cut minuscule grooves in the sides of the gouges, filled them with soft sliver inlay, and hammered the silver until it filled the grooves, holding it in place. Then she expertly shaped it with a burin until the engraving looked as good as new.

Tivaris could not help but smile as he inspected her handiwork. "I wish, my dear, that you would accept an apprenticeship," he told her more than once. "It would make me very happy. You might even get the shop one day, you know."

And Peliah would smile, thank him, and refuse. "It is not my intention to make this my trade," she explained. "But I appreciate the offer."

Tivaris shook his head. It seemed a waste, to him. Then again, he reminded himself, the apparent indifference with which she dropped heaping sacks of coin into his hands indicated that she came from a wealthy family and was truly in no need of a trade.

After she had sharpened, polished, and removed the scratches from a fine glass sword one afternoon, she announced, "I won't be coming back after today, Sera."

Tivaris started. He looked around in dismay at his star pupil, who was sitting at the grindstone with a lump of pumice in her hand. "You can't mean to leave me already. Why, your lessons have only just begun."

Peliah smiled. "I believe I have learned all that I wished to."

"I could teach you the forge," Tivaris offered. "I daresay you could learn to make a very fine steel sword in a week or two."

"Under your teaching, I believe I could," she said kindly. "But I have no need to learn the forge. Thank you for your help. And your friendship."

Tivaris sighed. "It pains me that you don't want to learn more, with your talent. But I see that you are determined. Wait here."

Peliah waited while the armorer disappeared into the back room. He reappeared some minutes later with the ebony dagger that Peliah had repaired two days before. It was engraved with hundreds of miniscule cliff racers, arranged with their wings tip-to-tip so that they formed a series of star patterns. Peliah had spent many hours filling the gouges on the handle and restoring the piece to its former glory.

"Did _this_ last night," the armorer said, handing the dagger to his pupil. The pommel was now encrusted with rubies.

"Beautiful," Peliah murmured, turning it this way and that. The rubies glittered like hundreds of tiny eyes. "It's a truly magnificent piece."

"That's why I want you to have it," Tivaris said.

Peliah gaped at him. "Sera—I can't accept this. The engraving alone makes it priceless, and now you've used your entire stock of rubies on the pommel."

"It's been sitting in my vault for years," Tivaris said, waving her protests away. "And as for the rubies—only a lady needs jewels on her weapon. Take it. You see the beauty in the thing, and after all the work you've put into its restoration, you deserve to have it."

Peliah stared at the shimmering weapon. It was not as valuable as Akrash, which was gilded and adorned with ivory inlay, but its engravings were detailed and imaginative, whereas Akrash merely bore the Dres coat of arms.

A lump rose in Peliah's throat. "Thank you," she said softly. "I'll always remember your kindness."

Tivaris smiled. "I don't know what lies ahead of you, Sedura, but I wish you the best of luck in all your endeavors."

"Thank you," the girl replied, smiling wryly. In her thoughts she added, _I'll need all the luck I can get._

~o~

"A little to the left," Kazagh murmured, wobbling slightly under Peliah's weight. She sat on his shoulders, struggling to hang Akrash on its plaque above the mantle.

"Be still, love," she giggled, sliding the sword a fraction of an inch to the left. "How's that?"

Kazagh studied the sword, then stepped back, apparently satisfied. "The father will never notice it was gone."

"It's a miracle he didn't notice the scratched engraving before I had a chance to fix it," Peliah said.

Kazagh shuddered. "This one thinks we should leave it where it is, and be done with it."

Peliah pouted. "No. It has to be Akrash."

Kazagh groaned. "Why, Peliah? Any other sword would do."

"I know. But I have my reasons."  
>Kazagh grimaced and set her on her feet. "It is a dangerous game," he warned her. "What if this one breaks the sword and Peliah cannot fix it?"<p>

"I can fix anything," she said, grinning.

Kazagh snorted and kissed her affectionately on the nose. "_This_ one brags like a skooma-eater."

"Do not."

Kazagh kissed her on the mouth. Smiling around his lips, she ran her fingers through his hair. It was so soft.

Suddenly he pulled away and asked, "So… is Peliah ready to meet her future husband?"

Peliah scowled. The night before, her father had informed her that he'd found a new suitor for her. He was coming over for dinner. Peliah didn't know anything about him, except that his name was Urbil and he was a slaver.

"I've known my future husband for a long time," she said offhandedly. "My father can introduce me to all the s'wits in Tear and not a single one of them will live to tell the tale."

Kazagh shivered, then, upon further consideration, stooped and kissed Peliah on the cheek. "This one is brave," he said softly.

"I don't have a choice," she murmured, twisting around and looking into Kazagh's eyes. "I can't live without you, Kazagh. I won't."

He held her gaze for a long moment, then kissed her softly. "This one will die for Peliah."

"Stop saying that," Peliah said sharply. "You won't die. They're not going to find us out."

Kazagh gave her a sad little smile. "Two teenagers trying to fool the entire guard? The odds are not good, Peliah. But there is no other way."

Peliah stared into Kazagh's large, sad eyes and in that moment, her resolve faltered. What was she asking him to do? If they were discovered, he would be drawn and quartered in the square. Slaves didn't get trials. And they didn't get mercy.

Tears came to her eyes; they glittered like rubies. She ducked her head and Kazagh pressed it to his chest. "I need you," she cried, her voice muffled in his shirtfront.

"As long as this heart beats, it beats for Peliah," he replied in a low, husky voice.

"Then do this for me." She looked up at him with tear-tracks on her face. "Kill them."

The boy smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "This one knows what he has to do."

"_They_ would kill _you_ if they had the chance," she said. "They wouldn't even hesitate. Look what they've done to your family—your people!"

He looked at the floor. "Yes."

"I wish there was another way. But—"

"There is not," Kazagh said softly.

He held her for a long time. It was morning, but the house was quiet, except for the ticking of the clock on the mantle. Minegaur was still asleep. As for the slaves, their day had begun hours ago. But of course, she never saw or heard them. Even if there were khajiit in the dining room with them at that very moment, Peliah would never know. But she knew that Kazagh would, so she was fairly confident that they were alone.

Peliah took a deep breath. "Kazagh?"

"Hmm?"

"The reason I want to use Akrash is… well, my father told me that he took it slaving with him. He used it to threaten your people and drag them off and sell them. And, well, won't it be… ironic… if…"

"He is impaled by his own sword?" Kazagh said, thinking of how Minegaur would be ruined if he were unable to keep any of his potential successors alive.

Peliah grinned. "Yes. Impaled by his own sword. Literally."

The khajiit's mouth fell open. "Wait… Peliah wants to kill the _father_… with _Akrash_?"

Peliah raised her chin. "Yes."

Kazagh dropped into one of the dining room chairs. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Then the khajiit choked, "This one speaks of killing her own father?"

Peliah sank to the floor at his feet. "He's no father to me," she said softly, yet firmly.

"Why must he die?" Kazagh begged. His eyes were huge in his striped face.

"When he dies, the estate will belong to me. I'll free the slaves. I'll buy Khiri."

"This is good. But we should wait until he dies of old age—_we _cannot kill him."

Peliah frowned. "Why not? He's scum. You said it yourself."

Kazagh shivered. He stared at Peliah with pure terror in his eyes. "What is this evil that Peliah speaks of? The gods will crush our bones!"

"I don't understand. Why is it any different than killing my suitors one by one?"

"He is family," Kazagh croaked. "To kill same-blood is the most evil act."

"He's not your family, Kazagh," Peliah reminded him.

"Peliah," Kazagh said weakly, "do not ask this one to do such a thing. It goes against all his _va'rrundi_—beliefs."

Peliah plopped down in the nearest chair and stared at Kazagh. There was so little that she knew about his culture. Of course he would abhor the idea of killing one of his _own_ family members—they were all so wonderful. But he wouldn't kill Minegaur—the dunmer responsible for the death of his father and the enslavement of his family—simply because he was related to Peliah? It didn't make any sense.

"I don't want to ask you to do something that goes against your beliefs," Peliah said thoughtfully. "What if I kill him myself?"

Kazagh groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Peliah—do not speak such evil."

"I don't have a problem with it," she said, shrugging. "And I won't hesitate if it means your freedom. When the time is right, I'll stab him in his little black heart. It'll be—It'll be the last scabbard of Akrash."

Kazagh moaned.

"In fact—what's stopping me from doing it right now? I'll kill him while he sleeps!" Peliah cried, springing to her feet. Her blood warmed at the very thought of it.

Kazagh jumped up and grabbed her arm. "No! Peliah—what if he is sleeping with a dagger under his pillow? Or a guard in his room?"

"Why would he do that?"

"Soron," Kazagh said hastily. "The slavers think someone is after them now."

Peliah wilted. All at once she realized how thoughtless she'd been; of course her father would take precautions after what happened to Soron. The question was, what kind of precautions? She'd never been allowed in his room before. His door had been locked for as long as she could remember. And if she didn't know what was in there, it would be foolish to stage his murder there.

"I'll go knock on his door," she finally said. "He's probably getting dressed now. And when he opens it, I'll see if he's got any guards or weapons in there."

"What will Peliah say?" Kazagh asked, his brow furrowing with worry.

"I'll think of something."

Kazagh considered this. "Peliah won't try to kill him now, though?"

Peliah gestured toward the sword above the mantle. "Couldn't do it without Akrash anyway."

Kazagh sighed. "What about the dagger?"

Peliah drew the cliff racer dagger from its scabbard. She'd taken to wearing it around; for some reason, it comforted her. "Here," she said, handing it to Kazagh. "You keep it for me. I'll only be gone for a minute."

Kazagh looked into her eyes, then nodded. On her way out the door, he said, "Peliah?"

She turned. "Yes, love?"

He smiled weakly. "Take care. And…"

"Yes?"

"Remember… it has to be Akrash."

Peliah's eyebrows shot to her hairline. Was he giving her his blessing? He didn't sound afraid anymore, at least.

"Don't worry. It will be Akrash," she assured him. And she headed off to her father's bedchamber.


	15. Gloria Dunmeri Dominium

~o~

15

Gloria Dunmeri Dominium

It is a lonely house that has corridors in it. And Dres Manor was a lonely place indeed. Poor people don't have corridors in their houses—for one thing, they are a waste of space. One must take into consideration the cost of heating a spacious room with no particular use except to pass through it. For another, poor people don't have the means to decorate corridors (rugs, tapestries, paintings, etc). But there is an advantage to being packed in a cramped room with mother, father, brother and sister all near: it is impossible to be ignored.

It is easy for a crying toddler to be ignored in a vast, echoing place such as Dres Manor. A father can retreat through the dark rooms until he can no longer hear his child's persistent bawling. Or, if he doesn't want to move, he can simply ignore the noise, as it is quite unlikely that she will ever find him in the maze of hallways and doors separating her bedchamber from his.

On such occasions, when Peliah's echoing cries met her father's ears, he would sigh and rub his temples and wonder for the thousandth time where the girl's mother was.

And though Minegaur was a worldly man who prided himself on the richness of his estate, the corridors of Dres Manor were often quite drafty, particularly in the month of Evening Star. And so the babe shuffled along in her nightgown, her nose dripping and her eyes raining tears upon her freezing bare feet. She was exhausted from crying—her sobs were tired, shuddering things. Now and then she would stand on the tips of her numb little toes and clutch at a doorknob. More often than not, the room behind it contained nothing but furniture and finery—no living soul stood waiting to draw her shivering body close. So she would shut the door and continue on her way, occasionally letting out a piteous wail that echoed off the high stone walls.

And though the girl had no memory of it, on one of these sobbing wanderings a strange, thin person crept out of the shadows and picked her up. She was warm and her skin felt like velvet. She made quiet rasping sounds in the girl's ear. The girl did not know what the sounds meant, but they were so affectionate that the she went limp, her little heart swelling with the love that had been so often denied to her. Before she knew it, she was asleep. She woke up the next morning in her crib, her Dunmer nursemaid leaning over to hand her a bottle before leaving her alone with her toys.

After that, she searched for the person with the raspy voice, tottering from room to room, eventually bursting into tears of frustration. But she never saw her again, and eventually, she forgot her.

All that was left was empty corridors. As the girl grew, she learned that no matter how loud she screamed—no matter how hard she cried—no matter how long she lay curled underneath the dining room table, hoping that her father (or—gods willing—her mother) would eventually blunder into her there in search of food or drink—she was alone. She was alone in that big house and there was nothing she could do to change that. And so she stopped crying. She stopped searching.

And when her father brought her the news of her mother's death, she didn't shed a tear.

~o~

Peliah hesitated outside Minegaur's door. She could hear him talking inside. Apparently he had posted a guard in there, as Kazagh had predicted.

It didn't matter. For years she had wondered what lay inside her father's bedchamber. Now she would find out.

She rapped sharply on the door. The talking inside ceased. Footsteps. Then—

"Peliah." Minegaur was obviously surprised.

"Father," Peliah said with a nod. "May I come in? I wish to speak to you."

Minegaur regarded her for a moment. "I… I suppose."

The door swung open. Peliah stared.

Minegaur's bedchamber was strikingly different from every other room in the house. Superbly decorated, positively dripping with furs and silks and other finery, it glittered from wall to wall. The bedframe was made of moonstone and pearls, the curtains trimmed with ermine. But what caught Peliah's eye amid all this finery was the huge tapestry above the bed.

It was a curious scene. A Dunmer with a high forehead and keen red eyes sat perched on a horse. His hair was drawn back in a tight, high ponytail. He was dressed in rich red robes, which bore the Dres coat of arms.

Three figures kneeled at the horse's feet. The first appeared to be an aged khajiit. She was covered from head to toe in feathers and brilliantly colored beads; Peliah wondered if she were some type of shaman. Upon closer inspection, Peliah noticed that the feathers on her costume were crumpled and dirty. There was a large gash on her forehead; blood ran down her nose.

The second person was an argonian. His robes, though filthy, were unmistakably fine. He wore a golden necklace engraved with symbols that were difficult to make out, but Peliah guessed that he was some type of noble. Or, at least, he _had_ been.

The third person was a khajiit boy. He wore nothing but rags. He was so thin that his ribs poked out, and there was something in his eyes, which looked up at the Dunmer on the horse, that spoke of desperation and hunger and fear.

The caption of the tapestry read "Gloria Dunmeri dominium."

Peliah's eyes shone bright red with hatred. But she swallowed and, in a flat, detached voice, murmured, "What a lovely tapestry, Father."

Minegaur warmed to her instantly. "Yes, isn't it? Your mother was skilled with a loom as well as a brush."

Peliah's mouth fell open. "My mother—made _this_?" She gaped at the appalling scene.

Taking her outrage for amazement, Minegaur said, "Oh, yes. She made it for me when I returned from my last voyage. Took her about a year."

Peliah looked up at the tapestry, loathing every stitch of it. Then she noticed something—there was another caption in the bottom left-hand corner. It read, "_Nak aalinash ajo'iiten jzar_" in dark grey. It was almost indistinguishable against the black background.

She almost asked Minegaur about it, but a nagging suspicion that he had never noticed it bade her to hold her tongue. Unless she was mistaken, the caption was written in Ta'agra—the Khajiiti language.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Peliah?" Minegaur asked, easing himself down in an overstuffed chair. Peliah noted that they were quite alone. Apparently he had been talking to himself earlier.

"Oh. Well, I—" Peliah looked around, thinking hard. Her eyes fell on a sack of coins sitting on her father's nightstand. "I came to ask you for some money."

Minegaur's eyebrows shot up. "Whatever for?"

"A—a wedding dress," Peliah stammered. "I can't marry Urbil in the same dress that I was supposed to marry Soron in, can I?"

Minegaur stared at her, surprised, then let out a great booming laugh. "Only a woman would think of such a thing."  
>"People would talk, Father. They would say it was disrespectful," Peliah said, thinking fast. She knew that Minegaur would take this argument into consideration.<p>

Minegaur sighed. "Very well. I am pleased that you are finally cooperating, and I am sure that you will make a very fine wife for Urbil. I will send for the seamstress. Decide on a dress, and I will discuss payment with her."

Peliah smiled. "Thank you, Father."

Minegaur nodded. "And in the future, Peliah, wait for me downstairs if you wish to talk. This is my sanctuary. I do not wish to be bothered here by you or anyone else. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Father," Peliah murmured. And with a parting nod, she took her leave.

~o~

She found Kazagh near the stables, unloading a wagon full of hay with his burly brother, J'zura.

"Can you come down?" She asked. "I have something important to tell you."

Kazagh sprang from the top of the haystack to the wagon wheel to the ground as quickly and effortlessly as an elf takes a single step. "What is it?" he murmured.

She grabbed his hand and steered him out of J'zura's hearing. Then she pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. On it she had written, "_Nak aalinash ajo'iiten jzar" _in a hasty scrawl.

"What does this mean?" she asked, handing him the paper.

Kazagh looked at it and his brow furrowed. "It is meaning, 'The sands show the way.' Why? Where is Peliah finding this?"

Peliah closed her eyes. "The sands show the way…the _sands_… what does that even mean?"

"Peliah?" Kazagh looked at her strangely.

"Is it some sort of expression in your language?" Peliah asked him abruptly.

Kazagh shook his head. "This one has not heard it before, if it is."

Peliah sighed. "It was written on a tapestry in my father's room."

"Did Peliah find a dagger in there? Or a guard?"

She sighed and sank to a crouch on the ground. "No. That tapestry… it made me forget why I was there."

"What was on this tapestry?" Kazagh asked, stooping down beside her.

"Oh, just the usual supremacist garbage. And that inscription about the sands showing the way."

Kazagh scratched his chin. "Why is someone putting Ta-agra on such a tapestry as that?"

"It was my mother. She made it. I don't know why she'd put that on there—it seems so out of place."

The pair crouched in silence, thinking. Finally Kazagh said, "This one should go back to work. We will think on it a while."

~o~

Peliah walked down the corridor. Her feet were cold. Her hands were cold. Her whole body was cold.

But she had finally found it—the door. The door she had been searching for.

She stood on her toes, grasped the knob in her fat little hand, and turned it. With a click the door swung open.

Before her were hundreds and hundreds of canvases. The room was swimming in pictures of faces, mountains, trees, and flowers. Amid them sat her mother on a stool. She held a paintbrush in her hand. From the paintbrush flowed a river of yellow sand.

Peliah tottered over to her and latched onto her leg. With a smile, the woman picked her up and lifted her onto her lap. The toddler giggled as her mother handed her the paintbrush; it sprayed sand onto her legs and the floor.

Suddenly her mother disappeared, and the girl plopped down onto the stool. She cried out in fright. The paintbrush fell to the floor, shooting sand in every direction.

Suddenly the sand began to swirl. It changed colors—reds, blues, and greens separated themselves from the yellow. Then the grains of sand arranged themselves into a picture of a desert oasis.

"Peliah."

Peliah awoke with a start. She was lying in her bed. The moonlight coming in through the window illuminated Kazagh's face. He was leaning over her.

"Oh, Kazagh!" she breathed, flinging her arms around his neck. "What time is it?"

"Well past two. The mother was busy in the kitchen, so this one stopped to help."

"I just had the strangest dream," Peliah said, burying her face in Kazagh's neck.

"Tell it," he said, lying down beside her.

She told him about the strange paintbrush, the sand, and the picture. "It was almost… familiar. Like I'd seen it somewhere before," she said thoughtfully.

"It is a picture of an oasis, you say?" Kazagh asked.

She nodded. "With water and trees and stuff."

"Perhaps it is the painting in your mother's room."

Peliah stared at him. Then she sprang to her feet. "Kazagh, you're brilliant!" she cried, dashing to her closet and snatching her dressing gown off the hook.

Kazagh grinned. "This one is aware. But where is Peliah going?"

"To that room. With the canvases. You have to take me there."

"At this time of night?" Kazagh said incredulously.

"Please, Kazagh. I think all of this means something. It has to."

"…Alright."


	16. By the Sands

~o~

16

By the Sands

Her mother's studio was all dust and stillness. Faint tracks in the dust were all that remained of Peliah's last visit with Kazagh.

Kazagh pulled a candle out of his pocket and lit it. Flickering light filled the room, illuminating the painting of Elsweyr. Peliah walked over to it, slowly—her limbs felt oddly irresponsive, as though she were still dreaming. She reached out and touched it. The thick paint was hard and grimy with dust.

"I wish it were brighter in here," Peliah sighed, looking around at the black curtains and dark paint. "I can barely see."

Kazagh looked around. "Ah," he said, "there is a lantern over there."

Peliah followed his gaze. An old fashioned lantern sat in one corner of the room, so immersed in dust that Peliah was surprised that Kazagh had noticed it at all.

He walked over to it, picked it up, and wiped at the glass panes with a corner of his shirt. "This is an old trinket, to be sure," he murmured, eyeing it curiously.

"What makes you think that?"

"Just look at it. All silver. Handmade. No one is putting this much work into lanterns anymore."

"Oh," Peliah said, still staring at the painting. "Well, light it. Let's see what there is to see in here."

Kazagh opened the lantern's tiny glass door, took out a match, struck it, and lit the old wick. The stink of burning dust filled the room as the lantern blazed to life.

Peliah gazed at the painting—the little figures down by the water, the sun, and the sand. So much sand. The sands of Elsweyr…

Suddenly Kazagh gasped, "Peliah! Look!"

Peliah looked up. Where the light from the lantern shone on the wall, she could see trees. Rocks. And suddenly she could hear running water, as though she stood near a stream.

She stared at Kazagh in amazement. He stared back.

Without another word, Kazagh crept toward the wall. As he got closer, Peliah expected to see his shadow on it—but none appeared. It was as though the light from the lantern shone completely through him.

Slowly, Kazagh reached out to touch the wall. He hesitated, his fingers inches from the surface whereupon the image of a forest clearing shone. He reached out…

And his hand went straight through the wall.

He gasped and looked at Peliah.

"What's going on?" she asked, breathless.

The boy gave a shaky laugh. "There is magic here. Come here, Peliah. Feel this."

Trembling, Peliah walked to his side. He took her hand and guided it toward the wall.

Peliah tensed as her hand neared the surface—and passed right through it. Deliciously cool air met her outstretched palm.

She gaped at Kazagh in amazement.

He laughed again. "Magic."

"How do you know?"

Kazagh grinned. "What else could it be?"

Peliah wiggled her fingers; it felt as though she had thrust her whole hand through an open window, into the cool night air.

Emboldened by Kazagh's lack of concern, she took two steps forward. It felt as though she had stepped outside. All around her she could see dark trees. A dusty path lay before her; it wound up a gentle slope and disappeared into the brush.

She whirled around. Kazagh had vanished! There were only trees where her mother's art studio had been moments before.

"Kazagh!" she squeaked.

Suddenly he stepped into being beside her.

"Oh, Kazagh!" she breathed, flinging her arms around him. "I couldn't see you anymore!"

Kazagh raised his eyebrows. "You couldn't?"

"No. Look," she said, gesturing in the direction from whence they had come.

Kazagh scratched his chin. He reached out with his hand, and the ends of his middle and index fingers suddenly disappeared, as though they had been chopped off.

"_D'mirno bar," _he muttered in amazement.

"Where do you suppose we are?" Peliah asked, looking around.

Kazagh shook his head.

Peliah listened carefully, but all she could hear was the wind rushing through the trees. There were no crickets chirping, no bats squeaking.

"It's too quiet," she said slowly.

Kazagh inspected their surroundings, his bright eyes flickering quickly back and forth. Finally they came to rest on the little dirt trail before them. "This path—we must follow it."

"Why?"

"Because this is where it begins," Kazagh said. Peliah looked behind them—and sure enough, a few inches from her feet, there was only grass.

"This cannot be a coincidence," Kazagh said thoughtfully. "Let's go."

Wishing that she had thought to put her slippers on, Peliah padded along in Kazagh's wake. A stiff wind blew; she wrapped her dressing gown more tightly around her body.

They had only been walking for a minute or so when they came around a bend and the glow of a campfire greeted them. Around the fire sat several figures, slouched down in an attitude of relaxation.

Suddenly one of the figures turned. The moment it saw them, it sprang to its feet with a startled cry, and the others followed suit.

A split second later, Peliah and Kazagh found themselves lying flat on the ground, their hands forcefully held behind their backs. Peliah couldn't see anything (her face was pressed into the dirt) but she could hear the angry shouts of her assailant.

"—no way they could possibly have found us, you know that, Throm-Hith!"

"Found us they have, and it's all our necks, I tell you—"

"If the portal is compromised, we're finished!"

"Shut up!" a deep voice commanded. "Let's get a look at them before we lose our heads."

Footsteps. Then Kazagh's gasp rent the stillness.

"You there—boy. Who do you work for?" the deep voice demanded.

"W-Work for?" Kazagh gasped, his voice muffled.

"Don't make me hurt you, boy. Who do you work for?"

"T-This one is a slave of Serjo Dres."

"Dres…" the deep voice said thoughtfully. "Which one? Which Dres?"

"Minegaur," Kazagh said. Peliah could hear the fear in his voice, now.

There was a sudden, jarringly loud hiss. "An old pot bellied slaver is this Minegaur," said a raspy voice. "This must his spy be!"

There was a thud and Kazagh cried out.

"Stop!" said a third voice. It was hardly more substantial than a whisper, but something about it made the others cease tormenting Kazagh.

Slow, shuffling footsteps approached. "I want to see the girl's face," the voice commanded.

Someone grabbed Peliah by her arms and hoisted her to her feet. She looked around wildly; Kazagh lay on the ground a few feet away, pinned by a massive Argonian who looked around at her with wary yellow eyes.

"Look here, child," said the voice. Peliah found its source directly in front of her.

The oldest and frailest looking person she had ever seen stared into her eyes, his pinkish skin a mass of wrinkles. He was a human.

As his eyes searched her face, they shone with sudden interest. "She was telling the truth after all," he said softly, wonderingly. Then he threw his head back and laughed.

The figures surrounding him exchanged startled looks. Peliah looked at them more closely.

There were two Khajiit warriors, one rather stouter and handsomer than the other. Then there were three male Argonians, all wearing leather armor adorned with feathers. The biggest of the lot was the one holding Kazagh. Then there was a frowning human woman with dark hair woven into a plait. She must have been the one who'd originally tackled Peliah, as she now held her firmly by the forearm. All of them regarded the old man with bewilderment.

"What are you talking about, Liberius?" the smaller Khajiit asked, his eyes flickering from the old man to Peliah.

The old man smiled at them all indulgently. "Don't you see it?" he asked, his voice growing stronger as he spoke.

"See what?" the woman snapped. Her grip on Peliah's arm tightened painfully.

"The resemblance," he replied.

All of them looked at her now; she felt the blood rising to her cheeks. A couple of them looked curious—others, wary. But the woman and the large Argonian positively glared at her.

"But—it couldn't be—" the smaller Khajiit said slowly. "She was dead. I saw her."

"Oh, Nymriel is definitely dead," the old man said brightly.

"Then who—"

"I see you inherited more from your mother than just her looks," the old man interrupted, turning to Peliah.

She stared at him. "What are you talking about?" she asked in a faint voice.

The old man searched her face, still smiling. "Interesting company you keep," he remarked, gesturing toward Kazagh, who had turned his face to the side and was looking at her, his eyes desperate.

Peliah swallowed. She knew she ought to lie about her relationship to Kazagh, but something about the old man made her feel like she could trust him.

"He's my friend," she said, hoping that her instincts were correct.

"Then you are a friend to all of us, my dear."

He turned to the massive Argonian. "Let him go, Throm-Hith. He's no spy, just a common slave."

Throm-Hith looked at the old man incredulously, then, shaking his head, released Kazagh's wrists.

Kazagh sat up, coughing. Peliah took two tentative steps toward him, and, when no one rushed to intercept her, knelt by his side and threw her arms around him. She could feel his heart racing through his shirt.

"What is this nonsense, Liberius?" the dark haired woman demanded. "Who is she?"

"Nymriel's daughter," the old man said softly.

Silence. Then an outbreak of murmuring.

"Nymriel never had a child."

"Surely she would have said _something_."

"She couldn't have kept it from us."

The old man held up his hands and the others fell silent. "Before she died," he began, "Nymriel left me a letter, only to be opened in the event of her death. It explained her marriage to a Serjo Dres Minegaur and two or three sentences regarding the existence of a young child, conceived and born prematurely in 3E 392. There's no question in my mind that this is that child."

All of them looked at Peliah then, their expressions both shocked and angry.

She stared at the old man. His words didn't make any sense. "Why would my mother write a letter to _you_? Who are you, anyway?" she asked.

"I am her successor," the old man explained gently. "Before she died, your mother, Nymriel, was the leader of the Twin Lamps."


	17. The Twin Lamps

~o~

17

The Twin Lamps

"The Twin Lamps?" Peliah echoed. The name meant nothing to her.

"An anti-slavery organization," the smaller Khajiit offered. "Founded in Cyrodiil many years ago and only recently returned to Morrowind."

Peliah and Kazagh exchanged looks of disbelief.

"How come we've never heard of you?" Peliah asked.

"Because we're a secret organization," said the deep voice. It belonged to the heavyset Khajiit. He had dark gray fur and squinty blue eyes.

"We can hardly parade what we're doing," the dark haired woman said impatiently.

"Especially not around here," added an Argonian in the back.

"And what exactly is that?" Peliah asked. Her heart was racing.

"We help slaves escape," the old man said, reclaiming her attention. "Or at least, we used to."

"The Circle found us out," Throm-Hith growled. "We used to have a fleet of ships to take slaves back to Elsweyr and Black Marsh. But the Circle is very well connected, and once they learned of what we were doing, they hunted us down and burned our ships, one by one."

Kazagh seemed to find his voice. "Who is this Circle?" he rasped.

The gray Khajiit looked at him. "A collection of some of the wealthiest slavers in Morrowind. No doubt your master is one of them."

At this mention of Minegaur, Throm-Hith bristled. "Yes, the father of Nymriel's _child_," he sneered.

Then a greenish Argonian, who hadn't said anything yet, murmured, "Why would Nymriel keep secrets from us, Liberius? We were family."

The old man shook his head. "Think about it, Holds-a-Stone. She married a slaver—the very thing we swore to overthrow. Telling us would put her at a serious risk."

"Damn right it would," Throm-Hith snarled. "I can't believe this. She betrayed us!"

Some of the others muttered their agreement.

"There was no betrayal, Throm-Hith," the old man said coolly. "Pause to consider her reasons for marrying the Dres."

The one called Holds-a-Stone looked up. "To spy on the Circle?"

The old man nodded. "I often wondered how she always stayed two steps ahead of them. She assured me that she had an anonymous informant on the inside, but wouldn't tell me who it was. After she died, I realized that the informant was none other than herself."

"How do you know that she wasn't leaking our information to _them_?" the woman demanded.

The old man shrugged. "She gave us no reason to suspect that such was the case. The years before Nymriel's death were some of the most successful we ever had."

"Except that part there at the end," Throm-Hith said, his eyes narrowing to slits, "where everything we built was razed to ash."

"That was well after she was dead, Throm-Hith," the old man reminded him.

"This is ludicrous," the woman suddenly snapped. "Why would a Lamps agent marry a slaver? It's disgusting." And she glared at Peliah, who couldn't help but shrink back at her ferocity.

"Nymriel was bound by social constraints," the old man said patiently. "Being Dunmer nobility, I'm sure she was expected to make a suitable match. And in Tear, only those descended from slaving stock are considered 'suitable'."

"She betrayed us," the woman said. "I say we turn our backs on her memory forever—and her slaver spawn, too." She looked around impressively.

"That will do, Flavia," the old man said coldly. Then he turned to Peliah and asked, "What is your name, child?"

"Peliah."

"And yours, lad?"

"Kazagh."

"Pray tell, Peliah and Kazagh, how did you come upon us?"

Peliah looked at Kazagh. He nodded ever so slightly; she took this to mean that he thought it would be all right to tell the truth.

"We found a lantern in my mother's studio, near a picture she had painted of the sands of Elsweyr," Peliah said. "When Kazagh lit it, a sort of portal appeared on the wall. We walked through it and ended up on a path. And the path led us to you."

The woman made a scornful noise in the back of her throat. "Just like Nymriel to leave her lantern where any s'wit might stumble upon it."

"She didn't," Peliah said in a loud, defiant voice. Then, surprised by her own reaction, she murmured, "It was hidden in the back of the room. No one had touched it in years."

The old man put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure it was well hidden. Your mother was never one to take security lightly. What you found was Nymriel's token. Each member of the Twin Lamps is given one when their initiation is complete. As you and your friend discovered, it acts as a portal to our headquarters."

"_This_ place is your headquarters?" Peliah asked, looking around. It didn't look very impressive. A grindstone and armorer's bench sat near the fire, but other than that, there were no signs of permanency. It could have passed for a traveler's campground in the woods.

"We are nothing if not cautious," the old man said. "If someone were to stumble upon our camp while we were away, there would be nothing to indicate that we were anything but common reavers."

Kazagh spoke up; his voice cracked from disuse. "Where are we?" he asked, looking around at the surrounding foliage.

"Belval's wood," the old man replied, "just outside of Tear."

"Liberius," Throm-Hith said warningly.

"Calm yourself. You really think that _these two_ are going to reveal our location?" Liberius laughed. "One's a slave, and the other is his friend, which is risky business for a Dunmer in these parts. I think our secret is safe."

Throm-Hith's eyes narrowed. If anything, he only looked more skeptical.

"So when Kazagh and Peliah are stepping through that portal," Kazagh went on, as though there had been no interruption, "they are traveling all that distance… in less than a second?"

"Yes," Liberius answered. "Around thirty miles from your original location, I'd guess. Marvelous, isn't it?"

"Incredible," Peliah murmured. She'd never been outside of the city before. For a moment she thought about running away; how could her father ever hope to find her so far away from home? But then she thought of Kazagh. He would never leave Dres Manor without his family. And she would never leave Dres Manor without him.

Then a thought occurred to her…

"Could you help my father's slaves escape?" she blurted.

The old man looked at her with a sad smile on his face. "I was wondering when you'd get to that."

"We haven't got the resources to help slaves escape at the moment," the gray Khajiit answered her. "Without ships, there's no way to get them home."

"Oh." Peliah sighed.

"But there is one way to free slaves without shipping them home directly," a yellow skinned Argonian said quietly. Peliah looked at him; she noticed that his scales were faded and withered with age.

"How?" Kazagh asked.

No one spoke for a moment; a log in the fire snapped and Peliah jumped.

"By killing their masters," the smaller Khajiit said.

Liberius shook his head. "Fools."

"We were arguing about this before you two showed up," the gray Khajiit explained. "Don't know if either of you heard about the Jeles murder, but some of us here think that whoever did it had the right idea."

"And some of us—" Liberius very nearly shouted, his gentle voice quickly turning hard, "think murder lies well outside the Twin Lamps code of ethics!"

An outbreak of angry muttering met his remark.

"And what of _their_ code of ethics, Liberius?"

"Are their lives worth more than the lives of their slaves?"

"They don't deserve to live."

"Wait," Peliah said loudly, "do you mean to say that if you murder a slave owner his slaves will be set free?"

"No," Liberius said, glaring around the circle of faces. "You'd have to kill his immediate family and his heirs as well. And even if you succeed, there's always a chance that a cousin or other distant relative will swoop in and take the slaves—it's technically illegal, of course, but you'll find that slaves have no legal protection in Tear."

"So we take them outside of Tear," Flavia said loudly. "We'll sneak them into Narsis. Then, when we have enough gold, we can—"

"Enough!" Liberius barked. "We're not murderers, and that's final."

Kazagh and Peliah exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Liberius stood up. "I'm going to bed," he said. Then, in a gentler voice, "You're welcome here, Peliah and Kazagh. When you wish to go home, simply return the way you came. Oh—and make sure you extinguish the lantern. That is crucial. I know that you two are trustworthy, but any others who stumble upon us accidentally might not find us quite so welcoming."

With this rather grim pronouncement, the old man left. Once he was gone, Flavia sprang to her feet, threw Peliah a dirty look, and said. "I'm going to bed, too. You coming, Throm?"

Throm-Hith stood and lumbered after her. When they were out of sight, the gray Khajiit strode over and clapped Kazagh on the shoulder. He was huge—a solid wall of muscle under a coat of coarse, rather unkempt fur. Something about him made Peliah wonder if he'd ever been inside before. He smelled like campfire smoke and sweat.

"My name is Do'hokoh," he said in his deep voice. "It is good to see another Khajiit so far from the fields."

Kazagh looked up at him in amazement. "Do'hokoh is not a slave?"

The Khajiit shrugged. "Well, I _was_ a slave, once."

"You escaped?" Kazagh asked.

Do'hokoh smiled. "It's a rather long tale. You must be tired."

"No, please tell us," Kazagh begged. His manner was becoming more and more animated. Peliah nodded in agreement, her eyes fixed on the giant Khajiit.

Do'hokoh looked back and forth between them, saw that they were in earnest, and shrugged. "Alright. As you wish.

"Many years ago, when I was a boy working in the fields, a Dunmer approached me. He was dressed very fine, with a golden chain about his neck. He told me that if I snuck away with him, he would put me on a boat that would take me back to my homeland.

"Well, I was just a boy of ten years old. I didn't know where my homeland was. I was born in Tear. So I told the man that I didn't want to go with him.

"He told me if I ever changed my mind, I could meet him under Drelvil Bridge at midnight any day of the week.

"I thought about it long and hard the next day. I thought about my aching back, my rough hands, and my hungry belly. I asked a fellow slave, who was very old, what a homeland was, and he told me that it was a place where you didn't have to work your life away and watch your family get beaten and abused. Well, it didn't take me long to conclude that I wanted to go there, after all.

"So that night I went to the bridge. I stood under it for a long time, waiting for the Dunmer to show up. Around one o'clock, he did.

"And to my horror, my master and two other Dunmer showed up with him."

Peliah gasped.

Do'hokoh gave her a sad smile and went on. "My master was furious. He shouted, 'this is how you repay me for feeding you and putting a roof over your head?' and he and the others pulled out their horsewhips and beat me within an inch of my life. I didn't know it at the time, but the Twin Lamps had returned to Morrowind, and the slaveholders were so afraid that they tricked slaves like myself and beat them in order to teach them to fear anyone who approached them with a free passage to the 'homeland.'

"Unfortunately for him, the beating had the opposite effect on me. A few years later, I ran into a real Lamps agent. She told me that she would take me home. She told me I would be safe."

He paused, his eyes on Peliah. "There was something about her. She was a Dunmer, but from the first moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I could trust her. So I went with her.

"The passage to Elsweyr was the most fun I'd ever had in my life. I loved the sea. I loved the way it felt to go to sleep and wake up the next morning in a completely different place. And I loved the Lamps. They were so brave, so passionate! When they spoke of freeing the slaves, I felt something burning inside of me. I knew then that I wanted to join them. I wanted to bring the happiness that I felt to others.

"When we docked in Elsweyr, I never got off the ship. I went back to Morrowind. And I've been a Lamps agent ever since."

It was silent for a long moment. Peliah looked at Kazagh; his eyes were gleaming.

"Have you freed a great many slaves?" Peliah asked.

Do'hokoh nodded. "Back when your mother was our leader, we made more voyages to Black Marsh and Elsweyr than I could count. But you see—" he lowered his voice "Nymriel was always loaded with coin. We never knew why. Some of us thought—the dark brotherhood—but Liberius was adamant that she'd never get mixed up with the likes of them. She supplied us with enough gold for an entire fleet."

Peliah stared into the fire. She pictured her mother—though she could hardly remember her face—standing at the prow of a great ship, leaning into the wind, closing her eyes, and smiling. Had she stolen the money from her husband, who was probably off slaving at the time?

She had often wondered how her mother (or any woman, for that matter) could have ever loved a man like Minegaur. He was old, self-centered, and boring. Now she realized that her mother had never loved Minegaur at all. She had only married him to spy on him and steal his gold when he wasn't looking. If she was a bad mother, she was a truly abysmal wife.

Peliah frowned. Was she feeling sorryfor her father—the man who was so determined to ruin her life? No, she realized—she was feeling sorry for herself. Not only had her mother ignored her from the moment she was born, but also conceived her, not out of passion or want of a child, but deception. With a nauseating jolt, Peliah realized that she was the by-product of a lie, nothing more.

And it was all because of the Twin-Lamps. She clenched her hands into fists.

The yellow-skinned Argonian, who was sitting across the fire from Peliah, seemed to be watching her closely. "Your mother was a brave lass," he said quietly.

Peliah did not look at him. "I didn't really know her," she said with a calm that she did not feel. "She was never around. I suppose she chose you over me."

Silence.

"She did what she felt was right at the time, I'm sure," Do'hokoh said, shifting his feet uncomfortably.

Peliah shrugged.

"It's nearly four o'clock," he said, peering up at the softening sky. "Perhaps we ought to get some rest."

The others stood. With looks of mingled uncertainty and curiosity directed at Peliah and Kazagh, they trickled out into the woods, one by one, until only Do'hokoh remained. "You are welcome here," he said, turning to Peliah and Kazagh. "Liberius has spoken. But be warned—Flavia is a fierce protector of our secrets. She never liked your mother much—thought she was too sympathetic toward the slavers, being Dunmer and all."

Abruptly, he pulled his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing a long, jagged pink scar from the base of his thumb to the crook of his arm. Kazagh gaped at it and Peliah's mouth fell open with horror.

"Remember this: be careful what you say around here. You don't want to get on the wrong side of Flavia."


	18. Stabbed in the Back

~o~

18

Stabbed in the Back

Back in her mother's art studio, Peliah trudged through the dusty carpet, pushed the drapes aside, and stared out the window. She felt Kazagh's eyes on her back, but did not turn. She felt numb.

The city of Tear was waking up. Windows flared to life with yellowish lamplight. Somewhere in the darkness, a dog bayed.

"This is changing everything, Peliah," Kazagh said softly.

She screwed her eyes shut tight. "I don't want anything to do with them," she breathed. Then, all at once, her fury ignited, and she whirled around, eyes wild. "I hate them."

Kazagh looked at her; there was pity in his soft, round eyes.

She knew what he would say—that it wasn't their fault that her mother had all but abandoned her. But it didn't matter. They had taken her away all the same.

And still Kazagh stood there, looking at her. No doubt he thought her a fool.

"Don't you understand?" she cried. "She chose them. Whether they meant to or not, they stole her from me!"

On the last word, her voice broke. All the fury went out of her and she fell to her knees, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Kazagh was at her side in an instant, wrapping his arms around her.

For a long time he only held her. The light outside the window grew brighter, but Peliah's sobs did not subside. She felt like she would never stop crying. It was as though she had lost her mother all over again.

"Peliah," Kazagh finally said, his voice gentle, "they can help us."

"They won't," she wailed into his shirt. "You heard Liberius. They don't kill."

"So he is saying, anyway," Kazagh murmured. "But the others—"

"It doesn't matter. He's their leader."

Kazagh stared out the window, lost in thought.

"They won't help us, Kazagh. They'll probably turn us in. I'm sure there's a bounty on us."

Kazagh looked at her, frowning. "Peliah knows they wouldn't do that."

She turned away from him. "We don't know them. How can we trust them?" she mumbled, a fresh stream of tears welling up in her eyes.

Kazagh kissed her softly. Then, without warning, he said, "This one is joining them."

Peliah's eyebrows shot to her hairline. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because—" she stared at him. She could not believe what she was hearing. "Because of what they've done to me!"

"They have done nothing, Peliah. The mother is the one who—"

"It doesn't matter!" she cried, pushing him away. She sprang to her feet and stared at him as though she had never seen him before, blinking rapidly at the sudden feelings of hurt and betrayal welling up inside of her.

"Peliah, how can this one _not_ join? After his father, after Khiri—"

"I told you we'd get Khiri back. I promised, Kazagh!" Peliah said, a pleading note in her voice.

"This is bigger than Khiri, bigger than Kazagh," he said, his voice rising. "This one must join the fight to save his own people. Can't Peliah see this?"

"There are other ways," she retorted. "When we kill my suitors, we're killing slave owners…"

"Peliah, didn't you hear what the Lamps said? Without someone to help the slaves escape, this is futile. And it is only a matter of time before we are caught. This one is killing Soron in his rage, but how can he kill so many others, who never did Peliah any harm, all by himself?"

"They won't help us," Peliah said firmly. "Because it's not just slaves we're trying to free here, Kazagh. It's me."

Kazagh looked at her. His mouth opened, then shut. He didn't seem to know what to say.

"Unless you'd rather not bother?" she whispered. Her cheeks glittered with tears, but her eyes were quite dry now.

He looked up at her, his eyes full. Leaning forward and taking her hands in his, he whispered, "Of course this one wants to free Peliah. Liberius can be persuaded. They will help."

She wrenched her hands out of his grasp. "Goodnight, Kazagh," she said in an anguished voice. Before he could stop her, she fled.

~o~

Peliah avoided Kazagh for the next seven days. It wasn't hard to do. Between Uradela, Minegaur, and Urbil, she rarely had a moment to herself anymore.

Urbil hadn't formally proposed to her, but she didn't expect him to. He was an unhygienic, uncouth sort of fellow with about as much charm and sensitivity as a wart. At dinner he hardly even looked at her, but spoke loudly across the table at her father, showering anyone within range with bits of chewed up food.

This suited Peliah just fine, who would have sooner done away with all the pretenses between herself and Soron. She did not expect Urbil to demonstrate any romantic sort of interest in her. It was no secret that the Sarvani family had squandered their wealth long before Urbil was born; a union with House Dres and all its slaves was therefore most desirable.

On the morning of the eighth day, Urbil was supposed to join Peliah and her father for breakfast, but he never showed up. Minegaur expressed concern that the poor fellow might be ill. Peliah privately thought that he was probably sleeping off the appalling amount of flin he'd consumed at their table the night before.

In any case, Minegaur seemed to have something to say to her. He looked at her over the brim of his teacup, frowning thoughtfully. "How fare you, daughter?" he asked.

"Fine," Peliah said warily.

"You look pale."

She raised an eyebrow. "I've always been pale."

Minegaur smiled. "Yes. You are _quite_ your mother in miniature."

Peliah grimaced.

"In any case, I'm glad you're here. I'd rather hoped Urbil would be here, as this was his idea in the first place, but I suppose I'll have to write him a note and send it over later," Minegaur said, pulling an envelope from is breast pocket and rapping it on the table.

Peliah stared at him. "What are you talking about?" she said slowly.

"I've received a letter from your aunt and uncle in Narsis."

"I didn't know we had relatives in the Hlaalu district," Peliah said, frowning.

"They are not of my line," Minegaur replied. "Emarlil is your mother's sister. Her husband Giloth is a minor houseman of House Hlaalu."

Peliah stiffened in her chair.

"You are surprised? Admittedly, I've had little to do with them over the years. At Urbil's request, however, I wrote them regarding your education."

"My education?" Peliah said, her eyebrows shooting toward her hairline.

"Yes," Minegaur said, assuming an unconvincing air of remorse. "I have failed you, Peliah. You have grown up without a governess. Your inability to behave as a lady ought, your sloppiness, and your apparent lack of intellect are just as much my fault as yours."

Outraged, Peliah could only stare at him, mouth agape.  
>"Urbil brought this to my attention last week, and I thought, perhaps it is not too late to teach Peliah some manners. Perhaps she ought to be sent away to be finished."<p>

"Urbil—_Urbil _thinks _my _manners need work?" Peliah said, unable to believe what she was hearing.

Minegaur colored vey slightly, then, as though he hadn't heard her, said, "In short, your aunt and uncle have agreed to give you room and board while you attend finishing school."

Peliah swallowed convulsively.

"Urbil will agree to it, I'm sure," Minegaur was saying. His voice sounded muffled and faraway. "So you needn't worry about that. When you have become suitably accomplished, I shall send for you, and you shall return to Tear to be wed. Peliah, are you alright?"

The girl had slumped back in her chair as though faint. Her eyes, which were large to begin with, were popping out of her head; they swiveled wildly around the room, seeing nothing. Her breaths came in deep, rattling gasps.

"Good heavens, Peliah," Minegaur said sharply. "Do pull yourself together. A bit of society is good for a girl your age."

But Peliah didn't seem to hear him. Kazagh's face came swimming to the forefront of her mind. There was no way she could take him with her. It was impossible.

It seemed that no matter what she did, her father would do everything within his power to ensure its futility. Her life was over now.

"I've ordered Uradela to begin packing your things. The carriage will take you away tomorrow. And it's going to be a long journey, so you must be sure to get plenty of sleep tonight."

"How long?" Peliah asked, refusing to look at her father.

"How long what?"

She closed her eyes. "How long do I have to go?"

"However long it takes," her father said, shrugging, as though it were of no consequence to him. "My guess is a year or so."

A year.

Peliah pushed her chair back and stood up. Her legs wobbled. "I'm done eating."

Minegaur looked at her. For a moment he looked as though he wanted to say something more, then decided against it.

Peliah walked out of the room. Once in the entryway, she strode over to the broom closet, wrenched the door open, and shut herself inside it. Though it was quite dark, her fingers had no problem finding the tiny door behind the row of boots.

But she couldn't bring herself to open it. Staring in to the darkness, she thought of Kazagh's face when he told her that he was going to join the Twin Lamps. Try as she might, she could not find a trace of the boy who had told her that life without her was "dead" in that face. There was something else there—a new passion.

_He won't care that you're leaving_, said a nagging voice in her head. _He doesn't need you anymore._

Trembling, she sank to the floor. She didn't know how long she sat there, staring into the darkness. Perhaps it would be better if she just left—what good would it do to say goodbye?

After some time, her head slumped against the wall and she fell asleep.

~o~

The end of 3E 407 saw little change in Tear. The city guard made little progress on the Jeles case, and the peasantry soon forgot all about it. Only the nobles of the Circle sat closeted up in their mansions, muttering distractedly, for slaves were disappearing from their plantations. While this news did nothing to excite the rabble, it did not bode well for the great and powerful House of Dres.

Minegaur spent a great deal of time shut up in his room, pacing and writing letters. Not to his daughter, who, according to the sister of his late wife, was doing well enough in finishing school, but to other members of the Circle, whom he had not contacted in years. The time, it seemed, had come to reinstate the old custom of hunting abolitionists and hanging them in the square.

However, as the days grew warmer and longer, the square remained empty. The Lamps agents proved more elusive than they had in years past. Minegaur could not understand it. It was almost as though the scoundrels knew exactly where his men would be any given time.

And still slaves were disappearing.

Then, at last, Minegaur's men stumbled upon a piece of good fortune: a letter revealing the location of a Twin Lamps sanctuary. It was a cave some thirty miles to the northeast, guarded only by handful of slaves with rudimentary weapons made of sharpened reeds. With the help of the city guard, Minegaur and his men killed those who resisted, bound those who did not, and destroyed what remained of the sanctuary they had built. Then, with forty some-odd slaves in tow, he marched back to Tear, where the cheers of his fellow slave owners met him the square.

Two days later, on the night of the 2nd of Morning Star, a corpse was found hanging from the stone arch near the temple of Boethiah. Minegaur and the rest of the Circle looked it over. Uneasiness pervaded this strange, torch lit meeting, for none of them recognized the human man with the noose buried deep in his neck. Whoever he was, he was old—very old—and his long white hair was matted and damp, as though he had been drug along the dewy ground _before_ he was strung up. Blood congealed around a deep wound between his shoulder blades. He'd been stabbed in the back.

"Not one of ours," Dres Runil breathed. "Whose?"

Minegaur frowned. His eyes glittered in the torchlight. "A gang murder, perhaps."

"Not likely," Marun Tarvil murmured. "He ain't Dunmer. Imperial, by the look of 'im."

Baffled, Minegaur and his gang turned the corpse over to the city guard. But no one ever came looking for it. Eventually it was cremated in the Dunmer way, and the ashes were spread amongst the Nameless.

Two weeks later, Urbil's disembodied head was found on the temple steps, staining the white stone with blood.


	19. Fine Wine

~o~

19

Fine Wine

On a glorious autumn day in 3E 308, Peliah came home.

She rode in her father's white carriage. The roads were dusty, so she pulled the shades down and lounged on the back seat, reading _Azura and the Box_. On the floor near her feet was a discarded letter from Minegaur. He had written, not to express a desire to see his daughter, but to order her to return home and meet her newest fiancé, a slaver from the south of Tear.

She had been gone well over a year, and her sixteenth birthday was rapidly approaching. She was only a few inches shy of six feet tall, now, but no plumper—her aunt often despaired at her flat chest and narrow hips. But her waist was so tiny that she still had a shape, and her delicate wrists and ankles made her look graceful even when she wasn't moving. Her face was unaltered; her cheeks retained the smooth, plump roundness of childhood, setting her apart from other Dunmer women. Her eyebrows were dark, but thin and straight. She had a delicate nose and mouth. As a result, her face was not very dramatic. To make herself look older, she liked to darken her eyelids and lips with a sooty paste that one of her instructors taught her how to make. The result was quite startling; her fierce red eyes glared out from beneath her dark, heavy eyelids.

She wore her jet-black hair in a heavy mound on top of her head, as was the style. The neckline of her gown was quite revealing, but a little cleavage didn't scare her anymore. It made her feel grown up.

Lying on the seat next to her was a farewell letter from her aunt. _I am confident that you are ready to enter into society_, it read. _You are the picture of beauty and grace, and I'm sure that your father will be proud of you._

Peliah read this with a wry smile on her face. If her aunt knew the extent of Minegaur's indifference toward his only child, she would have never permitted Peliah to return to Tear.

But now, after a whole year, it was finally happening. She was finally going home.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she thought of Kazagh, her heart did not flutter as it used to. She hadn't heard from him since she left. There were no means by which they could have communicated; slaves couldn't receive mail.

Still, when she thought of him, she felt… something. She was different; she knew that. She'd spent so much time with other girls her age that she'd experienced a shift in her priorities. Fashion and society meant something to her now. And after all the books she'd read and the people she'd met and the places she'd seen, Dres Manor seemed small and isolated. She was sure that her relationship with Kazagh would never be the same.

"We're nearing the city gates now, Sera," the driver said.

Peliah sat up and opened the shade. The slums rolled past. She heard children shouting. A dog barked.

They crept along Main Street. Shabby hay wagons rolled past. A nobleman on a white horse galloped up to the well, dismounted, and ordered a beggar boy to draw up some water. The boy was fumbling with the bucket as Peliah's carriage went by.

Something in the child's poor, apologetic demeanor reminded her of Kazagh, when she'd caught him reading in the library by lamplight all those years ago. Her stomach lurched. It was easy to pretend that she didn't care what he thought of her when he was so far away. But how would he react when they met again, face to face? What would he think of her now, with all her fine clothes and airs?

Before long, they arrived at the gates of Dres Manor. Standing ready to meet her was Uradela, who, Peliah was pleased to see, looked thin and ill. She was wringing her hands.

The driver dismounted, walked around to Peliah's side of the carriage, and opened the door. She took his hand and stepped down, holding her chin up high and looking around contemptuously for Uradela's sake. The moment that their eyes met, both of them knew that Peliah was in charge, now.

"Welcome back, Sera," Uradela simpered. "You look so lovely."

Peliah looked down her nose at the woman who had done everything within her power to make her miserable a year ago. She looked so bent and frail, now. Peliah laughed, her long white teeth standing out against her dark lips. "You look terrible. What's wrong with you, anyway?"

Uradela's simper faltered. "I've been out of sorts, Sera."

Peliah's smile widened. "A good omen," she said, and then, still laughing, she glided up the steps and let herself into her father's house.

~o~

Minegaur didn't waste time pretending to be pleased to see her. "I invited your fiancé to dinner tonight," he said by way of greeting. "I've got to marry you off. You are getting too old."

"I'm not an ash yam," she said drily. "I'm a fine wine. I get better with age."

Minegaur stared at her for a long moment, then laughed. "What did they teach you at that school of yours? How to debate with your father?"

"And a good deal more," she replied. She felt confident—almost as though she'd outgrown all of this. She removed her traveling gloves and inserted them into her pocket, alongside her handkerchief.

"Well, you look good, in any case," Minegaur, said. "Curtsy for me."

She swept him her finest.

"Excellent. I'll have the servants take your trunk upstairs. You can freshen up, and then you can come down and meet Gavin."

"I hope he doesn't smell as bad as the last one. What was his name? Urbil."

Minegaur scowled. "Don't speak disrespectfully of the dead, Peliah."

She bowed her head, trying to hide the smirk that she couldn't quite wipe off her lips. "How did he die? You never told me in your letter."

"He was murdered by the Lopper," Minegaur said stiffly.

Peliah's head snapped up. "Who's the Lopper?"

"The miscreant going around town lopping people's heads off," her father replied, a touch of impatience in his voice. "I've no time to discuss it."

Peliah pressed her lips together. She had a pretty good idea who this "Lopper" was. But if he'd joined the Twin Lamps like he said he would, how had he managed to kill Urbil?

Her mind swarming with questions, Peliah took her leave of her father and went upstairs.

Her bedroom was dusty. But it looked as though someone had washed her bed in preparation for her arrival. Her trunk was waiting for her to unpack.

She washed her face, reapplied her makeup, and let her hair down. It fell, rippling, down her back. Then she changed into skin tight, ice white gown with a plunging neckline. She admired herself in the mirror before she left the room. She looked much older than she was, and quite intimidating. Perhaps this Gavin would cower as Uradela had. She could only hope so.

She opened her bedroom door and almost jumped out of her shoes. Standing behind it was a short, slender khajiiti girl. She had black fur and huge blue eyes.

"Khiri," Peliah gasped.

The girl smiled shyly, showing her tiny pointed teeth. "Hello, Peliah."

Peliah couldn't help but stare. Khiri looked a bit thin, but she seemed to be in one piece. "How did you get home?" she asked. Relief washed over her at the sight of Kazagh's sweet little sister.

"Serjo Jeles died," she said, linking her hands behind her back and rocking on the balls of her tiny feet. "All his slaves are free. So Khiri came home."

Peliah gaped at her. "Serjo Jeles… Soron's father? He's dead?"

"Yes, Peliah."

"Did the Lopper kill him?"

Khiri nodded. She was still smiling. Peliah stared into her eyes, trying to read her thoughts. Did she know who the Lopper was? Or was she oblivious? And what about Naba?

"I'm—I'm so glad to see you, Khiri," Peliah stammered. Though she knew it was hardly proper, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Khiri's tiny shoulders. When she released her, her eyes were smarting.

Khiri patted her elbow consolingly, then offered her a folded scrap of parchment. "The brother asked Khiri to give this to Peliah," she said sweetly. Peliah stared at it for a long moment before she took it. Her heart was pounding in her ears.

"This one is wanted in the kitchen," Khiri said. "Good bye, Peliah."

Peliah watched her go. Then she opened the note.

_Meet me by the sands at midnight. Lock the door behind you._

Peliah swallowed. So he did want to see her again. But what would she say to him? It had been so long…

She went downstairs. But she wasn't as confident as she had been before. Now she was nervous—not because she was about to meet her fiancé. She couldn't care less about him. No, she was nervous because she was about to see Kazagh again. And now she realized that in spite of the time and distance that separated them, she still cared what he thought of her.

Gavin and Minegaur were waiting for her in the entry room. Gavin had long red hair, which he had slicked back into a ponytail for the occasion. He had a rather pinched face, but he did smile when he saw Peliah. His eyes lingered on the bare skin between her breasts.

"Gavin, my daughter, Peliah," Minegaur said with a nod.

"Pleased to meet you, Gavin," Peliah said, hoping this would satisfy her father. If there was one thing she had learned, it was that things were easier for her when she stayed on Minegaur's good side. She stepped forward, offering her hand.

Gavin took it and kissed it. His lips were chapped. "Pleasure's mine," he said in a mild voice. Maybe he would be easier to stomach than Urbil and Soron.

"Let's go into the dining room," Minegaur said. "I've ordered clam chowder. It's the cook's specialty."

As it turned out, Gavin was a damn sight nicer than Urbil. He seemed more interested in talking to Peliah than either of her previous suitors had been. He asked her about Narsis. Whether her stay with her aunt and uncle had been pleasant. Things like that.

Minegaur yawned and broke crackers in his soup while they talked. He seemed distracted. Every so often he got up and looked out the window.

Peliah was only mildly surprised by his rudeness, but Gavin looked at him disbelievingly every now and then.

After dinner was over, Gavin bid Peliah and her father goodnight. "I must be going," he said, apologetic. "I am needed out in the fields. The saltrice must be cut tonight and we are short on slaves."

Suddenly Minegaur was all ears. "Short? I thought your father bought a dozen of them last month."

"He did, Serjo, but they are all sick with swamp fever."

"How dreadful," Minegaur said. "To be reduced to working in the fields! I must say, I thought you came from much less humble circumstances."

Peliah gaped at him. It was unlike Minegaur to insult her suitors.

"Times are hard," Gavin said, shrugging.

"Indeed. Good night," Minegaur said rather curtly.

After Gavin was gone, Peliah looked carefully at her father. She realized that he'd lost weight. He looked ten pounds thinner. There were new lines around his eyes, too.

"Are you alright, Father?" she asked.

He sighed and looked out the window. The sun was sinking over the rooftops of Tear. "Truthfully, Peliah, I've got a lot on my mind. This Lopper—he's a threat to our way of life. First Soron, then that Imperial, Urun Jeles, and now Urbil. Where will it end?"

"What Imperial?" Peliah asked, her brow furrowing.

"We found a dead man near the temple of Boethiah a few months ago. No one knows who he was or how he got there."

_Now who could that be_? Peliah wondered.

"Just do me a favor and don't leave the house," Minegaur said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "These are dangerous times to be a Dres."

~o~

At eleven thirty, Peliah set off for her mother's studio. The house was dark and drafty. Every little noise startled her; she half expected her father to leap out from behind a potted plant and demand to know what she was doing out of bed.

When she finally arrived, she hesitated outside the door, her fingers clenched into fists at her sides. She took several deep, steadying breaths, turned the doorknob, and let herself inside.

In the middle of the room sat the lantern, its light shining up onto the wall. Peliah looked at the forest scene. Clearly Kazagh had left the lamp burning for a reason. Was he waiting for her in the clearing?

As he had instructed, she turned and locked the door behind her.

Suddenly a figure stepped through the wall. It was a huge, dark Khajiit. Do'hokoh.

"Hello, Peliah," he said in his deep voice. "It's good to see you again."

"Hello," Peliah said, her voice faint. She leaned back against the door.

And then another person stepped through the wall behind him.

This person was much leaner than Do'hokoh. His arms and legs were very long, but he moved with a gracefulness that suited him perfectly. There was something about him—just by looking at him, Peliah knew that he was much faster than Do'hokoh. Yet he was powerful. His shining fur did not conceal his well-built chest or his wide, strong shoulders. He wore only a pair of ragged trousers, so Peliah could see his stomach clearly for the first time. The fur there was short and smooth as velvet—it was stretched tightly over his abdominal muscles.

He grinned at her. His brilliant green eyes shone out of his tawny face with the black markings. Six silver rings adorned his ears, and he wore his brown hair in dreadlocks. They were so long that they brushed the base of his tail, which disappeared into his tightly muscled backside…

Peliah blushed scarlet.

"Hello, Peliah," Kazagh said, smiling with his pointed teeth. His eyes laughed at her.

Embarrassed, she muttered, "Hello."

"I'll let you two catch up," Do'hokoh said, chuckling. "We'll be waiting for you in the clearing, brother."

Kazagh nodded. Do'hokoh clapped him on the shoulder and disappeared through the wall.

Eyes locked on hers, Kazagh stepped toward her. The closer he got, the taller he seemed. His dark, smiling lips loomed closer until they were only inches from hers.

"You look different," he said. His voice was like honey and sandpaper in her ear.

She blushed again; she couldn't help herself. There was just so _much _of him. "So do you," she said, trying not to look at his naked torso.

"Sorry I didn't wear a shirt," he said. "We were training."

"It's fine," she said faintly. She didn't trust herself to look at him again.

Silence followed. Peliah felt her face heating up as she stared down at her toes. She could feel his eyes on her.

"Peliah." He spoke her name so tenderly that she looked up at last. His eyes weren't laughing at her anymore. They were round and full. She could see her reflection in them, looking pale and scared.

"I missed you," he breathed.

Suddenly his arms were around her, cradling her against his chest. She buried her face in his neck, breathing the sweet khajiit smell that she had missed so much more than she knew. He was much bigger than the Kazagh she remembered, but he smelled exactly the same.

He set her down and looked at her appraisingly. "Nice dress," he said, smiling lopsidedly.

Her cheeks reddened. "It's called a cocktail dress," she said, wishing she'd worn something—anything—else.

"It's not really, well, _you_, but it looks good."

She bristled—maybe because she'd been anticipating his disapproval. "What about you? I guess your new friends taught you how to talk like a Dunmer, huh?"

But Kazagh only laughed. "Yes. Do'hokoh gave me lessons in Dunmeri. I've been learning to write, too."

Peliah's scowl deepened.

"Don't look at me like that," Kazagh said softly. He touched her cheek with his velvety smooth fingertips. "I love learning. I always have. This has been an amazing opportunity for me."

Peliah's resentment melted away. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "The sound of your voice in my head got me through a lot of lonely nights in Narsis. I guess I just miss the way you used to talk. I miss the old you."

He stroked her cheek thoughtfully. "I miss the old you, too. But there are things about the new you that I like too." He bent down and kissed the corner of her eye, very softly, with his dark lips. "_Khajiit q'zi_. You have Khajiit eyes."

Peliah blushed yet again. "It's makeup."

"They seem to be looking right through me," Kazagh said thoughtfully, peering into her eyes. "I like it."

"I like your hair," Peliah blurted. Boldly, she twisted a lock of it between her fingers. It was coarse, like rope.

"Thank you. It's traditional. My mother wanted me to do it. She pierced my ears, too." He fingered the tiny silver rings.

Suddenly they were shy of each other again. Peliah peeked up at him from beneath her eyelashes, admiring his fine, angular features. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her again. Maybe he would touch her back with his hands. She shivered at the very thought of it. Then she felt silly. She was acting like a love-struck schoolgirl.

"They'll be expecting us in the clearing," he said abruptly. "Would you like to go?"

Peliah looked around the dark, quiet room. She bit her lip. "I suppose so. But…" she ducked her head, too embarrassed to tell him what she really wanted.

Kazagh smiled down at her. His eyes were soft. "Come on. I want to show you something," he said.

She offered him her hand. He took it and pulled her toward the portal on the wall.

And so she followed him into the night.


End file.
